


Heartbeats in Measures to a Familiar Tune

by KrystinaSky



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 57
Words: 85,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrystinaSky/pseuds/KrystinaSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He said goodbye like he was going to come back, but neither one of them really believed him, and River has someone important counting on her to get out alive, and survive what's waiting for her on the other side. In which River escapes from the Library and tries to escape from the Doctor, but it's hard to run away when you don't really want to. *completed* at last! Happy endings for everyone!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this after TNOTD, so it branches off from there.  
> Thanks for reading!

She can still taste the goodbye in his kiss as her eyes open to silver, painted stars on a ceiling pulled from her memories. Charlotte, perched in a window sill with her crayons and coloring books, looks up.  
  
“Did he say it?” Charlotte asks, swinging round to face River.  
  
“Yes, he did.” River tells her, smiling a little sadly and sitting up, tucking her knees under her chin to mirror Charlotte.  
  
“So is it time now?” Charlotte asks.  
  
“Yes dear, I think it’s time.”  


There's no rush, really, so River takes her time, mostly for Charlotte's sake. They’d been talking and working on it together for years, but the old-soul sadness is seeping out of the cracks in Charlotte’s little-girl smile. She’d never say it, but the way her little fingers curl around River’s tells her that she doesn’t want to let go. She will though. For all her childishness and ancientness (River can never decide which of the two is more selfish), Charlotte is the most selfless person River has ever met.  
  
 _4022 people saved, cradled, burning bright lives swirling through her little head as the years passed heavy._  
  
They go to Fortescue’s Ice Cream shop in Diagon Alley. The sun is shining, and she’s pulled the shop out of the second book in the series, before the war. There are smiles and laughing children in the bright, late-summer sunlight. A couple tables away Harry and Ron and Hermione are eating their ice creams too. The sun melts River’s ice cream quicker than she can eat it and she licks it off her thumb as it drips.  
  
“Should I bring Anita and everyone here or do you want to go back to the house and say good-bye there?” Charlotte asks her. She’s watching the three young heroes at the other table and River’s heart aches.  
  
“Let’s go back to the house after this.” River tells her, and Charlotte looks up and smiles, understanding the unspoken _this is the me and the you time, just for us._  
  
Their afternoon stretches out until the shadows grow long, and if it takes longer for evening to fall than it should, River is happy to pretend not to notice.

  


Back at the house River tucks the two children in for the last time. They all huddle together on Charlotte’s bed, a warm pile of smiles and pointy elbows pressed against her sides as River reads to them. She takes her time, reading and reading well past their bed time until they drift off to sleep and Charlotte’s eyelids are heavy. She carries the little boy and the little girl to their beds and kisses their foreheads. Her eyes prickle with unshed tears, and she lingers over each of them, memorizing the sound of their soft breathing. When she’s done she goes back to sit next to Charlotte, wrapping an arm around her little shoulders.  
  
“Should we wait until tomorrow?” She asks her.  
  
Charlotte shakes her head against River’s shoulder.  
  
“No, we’ve had a long time already,” she says, bravely. River hugs her a little tighter and kisses her head.

  


They go downstairs together and River says goodbye to her team. They’ve gotten close, through the years together in the mainframe. Closer to each other than to River, though; they’d formed families, units with the children between them, tying their hearts together. River had only ever been half with them, really. She’d been waiting, always waiting.  
  
She had been closest to Anita, and as they hug goodbye Anita says, “You know it’s really not so bad here, are you sure you can’t stay?”  
  
One last time River shakes her head and says, “I can’t, Anita, if there’s a chance I can save him I have to try.”  
  
Anita pulls back and drops her voice, “You don’t know if it will work.”  
  
“I have to try.” River says again.  
  
Anita shakes her head, “You know,” she says, with a sad smile, “I’d sort of been hoping you’d never get that goodbye you’ve been waiting for. I’m a terrible friend.”  
  
“You’re a wonderful friend,” River tells her, pulling her back in for another hug, “and if it weren’t for--you know-- maybe I’d have been able to do it, just stay here with you.”  
  
Anita snorts, shaking her head, “Oh please, I don’t believe that for a second, River Song.”  
  
“I’m so sorry Anita.” River says, pulling her in for another hug, “If this works, I’ll find some way to contact you, I promise.”  
  
“Oh, you’d better.” Anita says, and with a watery smile she steps back.  
  
With all the good-byes said, River takes a moment for one last look at the four people who had followed her into the library all those years ago. They look happy, and they’re together, and considering they’d all technically been eaten alive by shadow monsters, it looks very much like a happy ending; one of those happily-ever-after’s that tend to crop up in all Charlotte’s favorite books.  
  
“I’ll miss you.” She tells them.  
  
Other Dave says, “Only if you survive,” and Anita hits him.  
  
River just laughs, “Well yeah, there is that.”  
  
“We’ll miss you too.” Says proper Dave, and Evanglista nods in agreement from his side.

  


She materializes with Charlotte in their reading room. It’s not really a reading room, of course; it’s a file where they’ve been saving all of their research over the years. There isn’t much to go on, even in the largest library in the universe information on Time Lords is scare. They’ve been at it for a long time though, and the shelves are lined with books, their pages marked, and notebooks filled with findings covering desks and chairs and lamp stands.  
  
“This seemed like the best place to go from,” Charlotte tells her. Now that they’re so close to the end she can see a quiver to Charlotte’s lower lip, and she doesn’t meet River’s eyes.  
  
River kneels down in front of her, catching her face between her hands.  
  
“Charlotte, darling, you listen to me, alright?” Charlotte nods, meeting her eyes, “Whatever happens today, I am so very, very grateful to you. You, my dear, are the bravest, kindest and brightest person I know. You have done absolutely everything you could to help me, and if-“ Charlotte cuts her off with a little sob, “-no, really dearest, if this doesn’t work today, it doesn’t matter, alright? We tried, we did our best and it is not your fault.” Charlotte is crying now and River pulls her into a hug. “Oh Charlotte, I love you so much.” Charlotte hugs her back, with all the strength in her little arms until the tears finally stop. They pull apart and Charlotte manages a smile.  
  
“You know I-I uploaded you right before-right before you were going to-to you know…stop,” Charlotte says, “It’s going to probably hurt, a lot, once you, once you get back out there.”  
  
“That’s okay Charlotte.”  
  
They pull apart and River steps back, filling her eyes with Charlotte’s face.  
  
 _If this is the end she wants the last thing she sees to be something wonderful._  
  
Charlotte smiles and River locks her face against the back of her eyelids as she closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath, reaching for a still place in her head.  
  
It starts as a tingle in her fingers and toes, the feeling spreading until it’s everywhere.  
  
There’s a familiar flash of light burning across the synapses of her mind and suddenly there is _pain._  
  
White hot and raging, burning across her mind and through every cell-burning, burning so that her lungs can’t pull in the air and her hearts are seizing up and through it all the worst of it is _panic, fear._  
  
It’s not hers. She curls down around the little mind screaming and dying and through the burning death of the cells in her eyes something familiar and golden swirls up though the white spacesuit that covers her abdomen. For a moment it is a different sort of burning against her insides, and then it catches in her blood, spreading through her body and it is dying, but it isn’t just dying anymore, it’s _changing._  
  
 _Charlotte’s voice, soft and sweet in the quiet reading room, “In their infancy, the energy that allows adults to change their body to avoid death is extremely concentrated. For this reason, cross-breeding with other species is virtually an impossibility._  
  
 _His long fingers trailing across her belly button, “We grew our children in bottles.”_  
  
 _“Why?”_  
  
 _“Convenience.”_  
  
When her eyes open the sun is too bright and her mind is sizzling as the neurons re-align. She’s trying to remember something, and someone else is with her, someone scared and glowing and very, very new.  
  
 _Charlotte is sleeping in an armchair and the room is lit by just the one lamp next to River as she reads. The book is very old, the language ancient and difficult to decipher, even for her. The story is even older, more of a legend really, about a dying goddess and a child who saved her in a wave of golden light._  
  
 _“It makes sense, really.” She tells Charlotte later, pacing, “It’s survival. If the mother were to die the baby would die too, so, theoretically for the sake of survival, the baby could automatically, you know, transfer some of that excess regeneration energy to the mother.”_  
  
 _“River, what are you doing?” he asks her through his half-open eyes as his heart beats catch tune again under hers._  
  
She thinks about moving out of the sunlight but _something in the shadows eating chicken legs and use the red settings it doesn’t have red settings but yes it does, it should, it should, it should._  
  
She stays in the sunlight, trying to focus past the snapping sizzling in her brain and the _fearfearfear_ that is breaking her hearts.  
  
 _“I’ll make sure you re-materialize in the sunlight” Charlotte says, as they sit together in the highest tower of Cair Paravel watching dolphins and mermaids glinting together in the sea far, far below. “I figured out how to call Mr. Lux, I’ll tell him you’re coming. You just have to get to the transporters before nightfall.”_  
  
There is a doorway to her left, a doorway that will lead to a hall that will lead to a sunlit walkway to a building where 4022 people left the library. She has to go too. Her legs are all funny when she rises, the lengths aren’t right. She misjudges where her body is in relation to the door and she runs into the doorjamb painfully as she tries to walk through. As she falls she tucks her body that is _all wrong and snapping golden underneath_ around her stomach. Something important and scared and then there is _red like shifting walls around her face and “you will be brave” and glinting strong and warm with large hands that carry her back and “you’re safe now”._  
  
 _"I’ll keep you safe_ she thinks through the fluttering fear against the edges of her new brain, and she stumbles through the door and the hall and the sunlit walkway that drops away, a long fall on either side _won’t be there to catch you every time, yes that’s right, actually isn’t it?_  
  
The dust in the transporter room is different than everywhere else- all kicked up and littered with footprints.  
  
 _4022 people with two feet each, so many footprints as they lined up to leave the library. Two more people but just one more set of footprints._  
  
She waits, huddled on the transporter ring, trying to keep her new hands and feet tucked inside the circle, just waiting for _the girl who waited but didn’t wait alone, strong and warm and keeping her safe as 2000 years passed._  
  
She wraps her arms around her middle and her new mouth makes words and it feels funny but it’s important so she whispers against the shadows gathering at the corners of the room as the day passes, “I’ll keep you safe.”  
  
Finally she hears the transporter come alive around her. She’s vaguely aware that it’s been hours, but time feels unfamiliar after too long in the computer where it never seemed to work right. The transporter takes all her cells apart again, and they don’t like it so soon after regeneration and just getting acquainted with themselves and each other. When she gets to the other side and all put together again the golden light is bursting out of the cracks and it hurts and _fearfearfear._  
  
Too young she thinks, _he doesn’t understand that this isn’t dying._  
  
She is vaguely aware of people running forward, trying to help, and she thinks it must be her voice, strange and new humming in her throat telling them to stay, stay away, please.  
  
The baby _yes, yes, that’s what’s nestles there against her new spine_ , panics, little hearts fluttering too fast, much, much too fast until the tiny body can’t keep up and she feels him _dying_ , dragging a sob up out of her throat, and then he is changing, the glow breaking out through the cracks between her fingers as she presses them against her abdomen.  
  
As the glow fades the people press close again, their voices sounding strange in her new ears and then their hands on her arms and shoulders, her back, so very strange. She realizes she is crying. Mr. Lux is there, she remembers him _contracts in pieces falling on the floor in the shadows_. But his face is different, older, she thinks, _more lines means older because he’s human._  
  
He says, “Professor Song? Is that you Professor Song?” Of course it is, she thinks, he’s being silly but then no he’s not really because she has a new face now, a new face so she has to tell him, “Yes, yes I’m Professor Song.’ With tears all over her new face.  
  
They’re talking about heart rates around her, sounding confused and urgent and she thinks she should probably tell them that she and the baby have two hearts each, but her mind is stuck, looping and looping around the words _baby_ and _new face_ , sliding back and forth between English and Gallifreyan as her eyes  
  
slide  
  
closed.  
  
 _“Professor Song, is that a picnic basket?” The way the sound flows around her name is familiar even though the voice is wrong. She turns and tries to hide her disappointment when she sees his face. It’s a nice face, really, and the hair is lovely, but his eyes don’t know her like she needs them to today._  
  
 _“Always the observant one, aren’t you Sweetie?” She says, forcing a smile._  
  
 _“Were you the one who called me here? I think there’s some kind of emergency…”_  
  
 _“What makes you think it’s an emergency?”_  
  
 _“The note said ‘come quickly’.”_  
  
 _She smirks, and says, “Doesn’t sound like an emergency to me.”_  
  
 _He looks at her for a moment, frustrated and strung taught and something haunted on his face. He’s silent for longer than she’s comfortable with_.  
  
 _“Why am I here?”_  
  
 _She holds up the picnic basket pointedly._  
  
 _“There had better be something really, really important in that basket.” He says._  
  
 _“There is actually.”_  
  
 _It’s just lunch, in the basket, but it’s a very nice lunch and she brought a blanket that she makes him help her spread out on the grass. Summer on Asgard is a beautiful season, and it’s a perfect day, just like she’d planned._  
  
 _“So what’s the occasion?” he asks._  
  
 _“Again with the assumptions, who says it’s an occasion?”_  
  
 _“It just…feels like one,” he says, “that’s a nice dress.”_  
  
 _She stretches one leg out farther than she needs to so that the hem of the blue dress slides a little too far up her thigh. She doesn’t look at him, but she does smirk because she knows he’s looking, he always does. “It’s one of your favorites,” she tells him._  
  
 _“I thought you were supposed to keep spoilers like that to yourself,” he complains, plucking at the grass._  
  
 _“Oops,” she says, “let’s call it a preview instead.”_  
  
 _“Is today special?” he presses, looking back up at her, searching._  
  
 _“Not at all, doesn’t matter really, I just wanted to tell you something.” She says, pulling plastic containers of food out of the basket and spreading it out on the blanket between them._  
  
 _“What did you want to tell me?”_  
  
 _She pulls her dress away from her waist a bit more and makes sure the bio-dampeners in her earrings are secure. “Nevermind, Sweetie, it can wait. Here, take these,” she says, quickly, hoping to distract him. He opens the Tupperware and sniffs at the contents._  
  
 _“What is it?” He asks._  
  
 _Her hearts clench and she takes a long swallow of her grape juice before she can answer._  
  
 _“Those are fish fingers,” she says, “I brought custard to dip them in.”_  
  
 _“What? Do fish have fingers? No, they don’t, at least not on earth. Wait, you know I have met fish with fingers except… they were actually…fish people.” He drops the container of fish fingers quickly._  
  
 _She laughs at him, because really, some things don’t change and she loves that. “No Sweetie, they’re bits of fish that you eat with your fingers. Fish Fingers, see?” She takes a bite to prove their edibility to him._  
  
 _“And you dip them in custard?” He asks, sounding intrigued._  
  
 _“Yes dear, you dip them in custard.”_  
  
 _“Seems a bit strange.” He says._  
  
 _“Yes it is.” She agrees._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, your feedback is really encouraging! Apologies in advance, this is a bit of a slow chapter, it will pick up soon, promise!

She wakes up in a hospital room. A soft beeping from the machine monitoring her brain wave patterns sounds, and a nurse walks in moments later.

“Hello Professor Song,” she says, “how are you feeling?’

“Drugged”, River tells her, feeling the weight of her limbs and a haziness to her thoughts. 

“They had to sedate you as soon as you arrived on Mr. Lux’s ship,” the nurse says, checking a monitor over River’s head, “they were concerned about psychological stress to the baby.”

The words sink through the drug and brain-cell shaken haze, and her hearts seize up, her hands flying to her abdomen.

“The baby, is he alright?”

The nurse puts her hand on River’s shoulder and she has kind eyes.

_“I think I’d like to be a nurse.”_ _16 year old Rory Williams tells them around a mouthful of ice cream._

“I’ll get the doctor, he’ll explain everything to you,” the nurse says, turning to leave.

River catches her wrist, “Just… he’s alive, isn’t he?” she asks. She could check for herself, of course, but she’s so afraid and the nurse’s eyes are warm and she thinks it would be better to hear it from warm eyes rather than to reach down and find the emptiness herself.

“Yes he is, Professor Song,” The nurse tells her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. River nods, gives her a grateful smile, and as soon as the nurse is gone she’s crying again. It’s a happy, relieved crying this time.

_“Happy crying is the most human sort of crying there is,” he tells her after their fifth wedding._

_“Than what’s your excuse?” she asks, and kisses him again._

She reaches under the hospital blanket and the flimsy gown to rest her hand against her stomach. The skin feels too warm and she smells burn cream. They applied it before the excess regeneration energy kicked in and healed the damage, because when she pulls the blankets back the skin is healed and buzzing under her fingertips.

_His lips on her broken hand and his life sealing up the cracks, bright and golden. She runs away, shooting words like arrows to keep him at bay behind her._

_“River!”_

Two tiny heartbeats echo up her spine. They’re still a little too fast, out of sync with her own, but the place in her head that had screamed with his fear and pain is quiet, sleeping. She writes Galifreyan across the space between her new hip bones, swirling _safe_ and _love_ there in the past, present continual tense.

_He’s written many, many old words into her skin, but never ‘safe’_ , _and she finds out why at the end as she watches him watch her die._

In spite of the drugs, she knows when the doctor is coming and pulls the hospital gown back down just as he opens the door.

“Professor Song, how are you feeling?”

“Drugged,” she says again, “but it’s fading. Are you here to fix that?”

The doctor smiles and introduces himself as Doctor Toryn Reed. As he washes his hands he describes his extensive education and accomplishments in the medical field disinterestedly, like he’s reading someone else’s resume. He also reveals that he had been selected by Mr Lux personally to treat River.

“Of course, I jumped at the opportunity. You’re a bit of a miracle Professor Song, and a hero, did you know that?”

She shakes her head, “I’ve been in a computer for a while, you’ll have to fill me in.”

He sits down on the hovering stool next to her hospital bed, looking over the monitors and reports flowing from the machinery around him to the computer in his hands as he talks.

“4022 people, missing for a hundred years, come home. It was incredible. Practically the only thing the press talked about for a week straight. Mr. Lux gave a lot of interviews of course. He wrote a book too, it was a bestseller.”

River thinks she should feel grateful, but she just feels vaguely annoyed;  Mr Lux hadn’t know the half of what had happened in that library. “Oh, really?” she says.

“Yup. It’s called”, he pauses, clears his throat softly around a little smirk, ‘The Last Song in the Library’”

River snickers, “Seriously?  He actually called his book that?”

“He did, I laughed at it too,” he sits back, grinning at her, “I think I’m going to like you, Professor Song.”

“Sometimes people do,” River tells him.

“Good thing too, in the book you were a bit…melodramatic.  I don’t do well with _melodramatic._ ” He says, wiping his hands on a towel with an expression of distaste.

“Would you have quit?” She asks him, “If I’d been the melodramatic type?”

“Ha!” he says, “Are you kidding? I told you, Mr. Lux _hand-picked me_. Do you have any idea how much I’m getting paid for this?”

 “It’s good to know my doctor has such pure motives,” she settles back against her pillows with a smirk. The banter feels good, like slipping into an old pair of shoes.

“Purely monetary,” he assures her, “Speaking of money,” he pulls a pair of gloves over his wrists, releasing them with a snap, “I want you to know that in spite of all the money and time I poured into my post-doctorate specialized certification in semi-human and alien physiology, I haven’t got a clue what you and baby here _are_.” He glares at her, a spark of humor in his eyes softening the expression, “ It’s very frustrating.”

“Terribly sorry about that,” she says, smiling.

“As you should be.”   
  


She explains the basics of regeneration to him, and what Charlotte had done, uploaded her body in the nanosecond between the completion of the upload and the complete failure of her body, preserving it in that state as Charlotte had the 4022 occupants of the library hundreds of years before. She tells him that her consciousness had been preserved in another form and uploaded directly into the mainframe. She doesn’t tell him by whom or the reasons why.

_“One more run River, you and me.”_

“In all of the uploading and saving and whatnot, nobody knew to save the baby, he was as good as dead.”

“So you decided to try to find a way to get out.”

She nods, “We did some research, in the mainframe. It’s the largest library in the universe, so lots of materials, you know.”

She explains their findings to him, he carefully notes the titles of the books they’d found.

“So basically, infant, sorry, Time Lords?” she nods, “Right, baby….Time Lords…they’re producing all this energy as they develop so that they can do that cellular regeneration thing you do to keep from dying and ageing and all that.” He pauses, and she nods, confirming, “You didn’t have any left, so when you were dying your baby passed you a bunch of it, and you were able to regenerate and survive, and you ended up with a new face out of the whole deal as well.”

“Basically,” she says.

“Right, okay,” he pauses for a moment, scribbling something into his computer with his finger, “Any idea why the baby has continued to regenerate?” Her hands settle back over her stomach, tensing.

“How many times has it happened?” she asks.

“Twice, since you were brought here.”

She feels sick, remembering the first time and the second time, the feel of him _dying_ inside of her. It had happened again, twice now while she’d been sleeping.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” she says.

“I was afraid of that. We’re not sure what’s triggering it, but each time the baby’s heart – sorry – _hearts_ rate increases until cardiac arrest, and then the regeneration happens.”

“He’s scared,” she says, softly, curling her fingers over her stomach

“We can’t know that,” he says gently, “we don’t even know how aware it is at this stage of development.”

She shakes her head, “No, he’s scared, I can tell.”

“Oh,” the doctor says, he pauses, clears his throat, “er, psychic are you?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Lovely,” he says, scratching his head awkwardly.

She watches him, her eyebrows raising in disbelief. Surely not….“Maybe I should mention it only works with physical contact….”

“Oh! Good, right that’s, you know, very…fascinating. Scientifically.”

“Why doctor, something in your head you don’t want me to see?”

There’s some red creeping up from his collar and high on his cheekbones.

_Seriously?_

Her eyebrows shoot up,

“I’m a very old, pregnant, alien lady. And I was dead last week….”

“Right,” he says, quickly, cutting her off,  “Well anyway. The good news is we’ve found a sedative that works on both of you. As long as we can keep baby calm, hopefully we won’t have any more problems.” She lets him change the subject.

“I suppose that means I’m stuck in bed for a while?”

“Most definitely.”

She groans, “Forewarning, I’m not very good at keeping still.”

“We’ll try our best to keep you occupied. Anything I can get you at the moment?”

“A mirror, please.”

“A mirror?” He looks surprised, “I was thinking more along the lines of, you know, food, maybe some reading materials….”

“I haven’t actually seen my new face yet, I’m suddenly thinking it might be a rather attractive one,” she says, eying him pointedly as the red flares across his neck again.

He hurries to his feet, avoiding eye contact and making a show of fiddling with his hand-held computer, “I’ll send the nurse in with one.”

“Thank you doctor.”

“Anytime professor,” he waves over his shoulder, his voice floating back to her through the open door, “As long as the pay is good[CJ1] .”  
  


The mirror arrives with her lunch and the whole lot is a bit of a disappointment. The sandwich tastes like dirt in her mouth, the mayonnaise clinging to her tongue and throat. She used to like mayonnaise.

_“Ugh,” says Amelia, “my Mum never listens. Look at the mayonnaise in this sandwich, it’s like frosting!”_

_“Looks fine to me,” Mels tells her, sitting down with her greasy hamburger from the school cafeteria. She notices the napkin the sandwich had been wrapped in crumpled next to Amelia’s juice box. Her Mum had written, ‘Love you darling’ in purple ink and signed it with ‘xoxo’._

_“Trade you,” Mels says, and Amelia happily agrees._

They take her unfinished lunch away and leave her with a small hand-held mirror. The search for something her new taste buds will accept takes up the rest of the afternoon.

When an orderly comes in with the second meal attempt (a blueberry muffin and cream cheese), she is laughing.

“I got my dad’s nose,” she tells him, chuckling (she has to tell _someone)_ and reaching for the muffin. The muffin is promptly spit out and the orderly goes off to search for something else (celery, preferably, maybe a side of ketchup).

The eyes are Rory’s mum’s, which is interesting, and the hair is Amy’s, only curly. Really curly. She’s pretty sure that shouldn’t have happened again. Three faces in a row with the curls. Interesting.

“A few freckles too,” she tells the orderly as he returns with her celery, “that’s new.”

He looks at her blankly, and sighs tiredly as she pushes the bitten celery and smeared ketchup back to him a moment later.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a little more of a plot forming! Yay for plots, love those!

Nighttime at the hospital is incredibly lonely. Every night, as the orderlies, doctors and nurses trickle out, she can feel the white walls closing in around her like Stormcage had on that first, terrible night, before he came to take her away. She hardly ever sleeps, of course, but they turn the lights out and draw the curtains and the darkness is so thick she can almost feel it against her skin. She tries to read, but reading reminds her of stories with Charlotte’s little hand in hers, and oh, she _misses_ her, so she stops reading. When she stops reading, she finds herself remembering 300 years’ worth of nights in prison that were not actually spent in prison. She remembers his face and his hands and his voice and oh, she _misses_ him too.

When she does sleep, she dreams, but there is no relief there either. She dreams almost always about him, and they are rarely happy dreams because at the end they are always saying goodbye

Six days into her stay at the hospital she wakes up a few hours before dawn with two gunshots echoing in her ears and his body on the sand blazing across the back of her eyelids as they fly open.

The heart-rate monitor is blinking red and an automated voice repeats, “Heart-rate has exceeded the safety limit, please remain calm and the on-call doctor will be with you shortly.”

Of course it’s not her hearts that are the problem, and she presses her fingers against her stomach and her thoughts against the building fear of the little mind there.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry baby, we’re safe, don’t be scared.”

The doctor arrives with sleep still gathered around the corners of his eyes and quickly administers a sedative. He spends a few minutes with her, speaking quietly and checking vitals before he leaves her alone again in the dark.

_“I’m so sorry River,” he says. It’s been years of nights with him for her, but she can tell tonight it’s still new for him by the way he stares around her cell, and the guilt on his face._

_“Why?”_

_“You’re in prison and it’s my fault.”_

_She laughs, taking his face between her hands and drawing his eyes down to hers, “Sweetie, I’ve never been as free as I am right now,” and she kisses him to prove it, and there is no voice in her head whispering about death and hope in an endless war and youmustkillthedoctor, because she is free._

She had been told to move as little as possible, but she suddenly feels like she can’t breathe, like the darkness is a weight on her chest and if she stays laying there she will suffocate slowly. River gets up to draw the curtains back from her window. The floor feels like ice against her bare feet and the room spins. She doesn’t know the length of her own arms and legs, and it take her longer than it should to take the few steps between her and the window. She feels like a cripple, like her body is another kind of prison and the thought stirs a dangerous panic at the back of her mind that she fights back immediately, drawing deep breaths.

When she does reach the window and the button that pulls back the automated curtains, she stands there, hands gripping the sill and eyes locked on the stars. She presses one hand and her forehead against the glass and lets the silvery moonlight ease the weight of the darkness against her chest.

“Would you like to hear a story?” she whispers to the baby, “I know, you’re too little to understand stories,” she pauses for a moment, with a sardonic smile, “well, at the moment you’re sedated anyway, aren’t you? But Mummy needs the practice, ok? Once upon a time that never actually happened, the bravest man in the universe kept his wife safe for a very long time while she slept. She was always tired, his wife, she hated waking up in the mornings and was usually late for school,” she stops for a moment, smiling at the memories,

“Don’t be like that, baby, alright? Anyway, this time she slept for so, so long. 2000 years, actually. Lots of things happened, people came and tried to take her away sometimes, there were terrible fires, floods and wars. And that man, the bravest man in the universe, was all alone, just waiting for her to wake up. He didn’t give up though” She has to stop again, biting her lip to hold back the tears, “he kept her safe from everything and everyone until the day she woke up. And after that, darling, they were always together, and he was never alone again.”

She turns to the side, leaning her shoulder against the window and cradling both hands around the small bump of her belly.

“I am not the bravest man in the universe – well, obviously, I’m not a man, or I’d be your dad rather than your mom – but that’s not the point. I’m not the bravest man in the universe, but I am his daughter, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise, and you will never be alone.” River strokes her thumbs across her stomach, picturing tiny fingers and toes all curled up and still.

_Sometimes she can remember flashes, the way her fingers were too small to wrap around the hilt of the gun, the weight of it against her small arms dragging it down to point at the sand._

She goes back to bed and spends the rest of the night telling stories. She doesn’t tell the sad ones, just happy, silly stories about Amy, Rory and Mels in Leadworth. The nights pass a little quicker after that, with the curtains open and the stories that make her smile.

On the nights she does sleep, the dreams continue. She sees Doctor Reed almost daily, but nothing they try seems to work, either to keep the dreams away or to keep the baby from reacting. A month into her stay at the hospital, the sedatives stop working and the baby regenerates again. It’s just as horrible as she remembers, the fear and the dying, and they call in Doctor Reed who turns up with red-rimmed eyes and his shirt on backwards.

When all the tests are done he sits beside her bed, his shoulders falling into a slump.

 “The baby is getting weaker,” he tells her, softly.

“I know.”

“How many times can he do the, uh…regeneration?”

“I don’t know,” she tells Doctor Reed, but she can feel it draining out of him, she can see it sometimes, a soft glow that should be lovely but isn’t. It’s like blood dripping slowly (but oh, not slowly enough) from an open wound.

“Not much longer, I think.”

 

 

She doesn’t sleep for two weeks, and the exhaustion writes itself across her face in dark lines beneath her eyes. Doctor Reed doesn’t look much better than she does.

On a Wednesday afternoon he comes in quietly with a frighteningly defeated slump to his shoulder. He sits in the stool next to her bed and takes her hand in both of his, pressing firmly.

“River”, he says after a moment, “I don’t know what else to do.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“We just don’t have enough information. I’ve tried everything, talked to everyone I can think of, but I just… I don’t know how to fix this, River. I am so sorry.” He presses their clasped hands against his forehead, and it’s probably just the exhaustion, but he’s squeezing his eyes shut like he might cry.

Fighting down her own despair, she curls her fingers around his and squeezes his hand lightly, “Don’t worry Doctor Reed, I’m pretty sure Mr. Lux is still legally obligated to pay you,” she teases him, but her voice shakes.

He laughs shortly, “Well good, because I’ve already picked out my space yacht and I’m very attached.”

He puts their clasped hands down and scoots a little closer.

“River, what about the baby’s father?”

Her hearts squeeze and there’s afternoon daylight pouring through the open window but she feels like she’s being choked by the dark again. She fixes her face still and impassive.

“What about him?” she asks.

“Is he…still alive?”

She thinks she can see where the conversation is going and doesn’t like it. She considers lying for a moment, decides against it. “No. Well actually, it’s complicated, but basically yes he is.”

“Somehow I feel like that should be a very not-complicated yes-or-no question,” he says, wryly.

“I’m an old, pregnant, alien lady, and I was dead last month, remember? Everything is complicated.”

“Okay then, let me re-phrase the question. Alive or dead or whatever, can we contact him? Would he, you know, be able to…help somehow? Wait, sorry, he is, you know, the same…species as you, right?”

“Well… basically yes,” she tells him.

“Yes to which?”

“The species part.”

“And the other part?”

“He might know something,” she tells him, and really, he’s the only one left in the universe to ask, “but he didn’t know about the baby, and he doesn’t know I’m alive,” she takes a deep breath, because she’s never said it aloud before, “And I don’t want him to know. Ever.” The words hurt a little bit on the way out, and they hang in the air, cold and hard.

Doctor Reed looks at her, a shadow passing over his eyes. He’s too professional to ask though, and she’s glad.

“Could someone else approach him, or could we contact him in a way that wouldn’t have to involve you?”

“I….don’t know. Probably not, he’s a bit difficult to pin down.”

“Yes, I’ve heard sort-of-dead people sometimes are.”

“Well I’m not,” she points out, motioning to the hospital bed she’s hardly left in weeks.

“Yes but you’re my patient, and pregnant, and that would be entirely inappropriate.” As soon as the words leave his mouth he turns bright red, drops her hand and leans back from the bed, eyes wide and looking down. She laughs at him and bites back a few flirty responses on the tip of her tongue, changing the subject before he flees the room in embarrassment.

“We’re really out of options then?” she asks after a moment, sobering.

“I’m afraid so,” he tells her.

 

With the assistance of a surprisingly helpful Mr. Lux, River is able to contact the Library mainframe, namely Charlotte, and her team. She begins her own research again, with Charlotte’s help, going over all the information they had gathered again and again, and coming to the same conclusion Doctor Reed had.

At night she tries not to worry. She keeps telling stories, and she puts off sleeping until exhaustion drags her eyelids closed and the nightmares came. She wakes up to sleepy, growing panic at the back of her mind as the effectiveness of the new medicine wears off far too quickly.

There is only one place left in the universe that might have the answers they need, and the inevitability presses in on her. It’s not all bad though.

_The door closing on darkening Berlin and the man dying on the floor in a fancy suit. Something warm and golden pressing around her shoulders like Amy’s arms and Rory’s voice, but different because this one knows who she is. Feeling like home as all the terror drains slowly and quiet and soft and not really words but more like feelings of “safe now” and “everythingisgoingtobealrightbecauseI’vebeentotheend”._

If she’s honest (which she is sometimes is and wants to be very much although she knows she’s out of practice), she wants to go back to the TARDIS too. In the quiet moments, at night between stories, she can feel the sudden homelessness of her new existence. She has no home to go back to, not even a prison cell. There is no family or friends waiting to welcome her back to life. Mr. Lux, strangely kind and gentle with the new lines of 13 years on his face, had shown her the footage of the 2044 coming home. After a hundred years, their direct families and friends were gone, but there were grandchildren and great grandchildren and nephews and nieces waiting with open arms as they stepped tearfully from the ship. She had blamed the lump in her own throat on the pregnancy.

The idea of home feels wonderful. Sometimes, when the fear starts to rise in the pit of her stomach she closes her eyes and reaches for the feel of the warm console room light against her skin and her thoughts. She _wants_ to go back, to feel home and breathe it in. What she so very much does not want is to see him seeing her and now knowing her. Again. The thought makes her feel ill, but she blames that on the pregnancy too.

She tells Doctor Reed as little as she can. She tells him that she’s going to have to do some time travelling, probably some running and most definitely some disguising. Staying in bed is really not going to work. He hestiantly tells her he can give her at most six weeks on a strong dose of a new sedative before the effects wear off.

“Can you do what you need to in six weeks?” he asks her, worry creasing his brow.

“I’m going to have to.”

“This is really, very dangerous. Are you sure someone else can’t go?”

“Positive.” She tells him, because even if there was someone else who could read the Galifreyan, just finding the library would be almost impossible without the help of the TARDIS herself.

Mr. Lux turns up for his weekly visit with a vortex manipulator and a set of perception filters. She doesn’t ask and neither does he, but she knows he’s in contact with Charlotte. He tells her to be careful and hands her a bank account number on a post-it note and squeezes her shoulder on his way out.

Tracking the Doctor down, plotting out ways to meet him, potential points along his timeline and relationships she can exploit is all as natural as breathing. She was trained for this, to track him down, to get close to him, and it’s so much simpler than trying to get his attention ever was.

She plays with the idea of looping back in his timeline. Joining up with him and one of his less-romantically inclined companions is certainly the most appealing option. She spends the most time on Donna, planning out way she could step into the events of his life while he’d travelled with her without making too much fuss.

She’d really rather liked Donna.

_In tandem they rip up the contracts and the pieces fall, fluttering to the floor._

At the end though, she decides it’s too dangerous to risk stepping back. Which leaves her with going forward.

Which means Clara, and the Doctor with his 11th face and the bowtie.

_“what am I doing?”_

_“As you’re told.”_

She stops telling stories at night, occupied with planning instead. She traces as far as she dares along Clara’s timeline, pinpoints the most likely relevant time period which would be, for Clara, immediately following Tranzalore. She studies Clara, the real, original Clara, everything she can find. She hires an ex-time agent on the shadier side of the law to take her new vortex manipulator for a spin, sending him to different points along Clara’s timeline to gather information. She compiles it all neatly and she begins to design her own character, someone unobtrusive to fit neatly into Clara’s life exactly when she needs to.  She sends the time agent out again to lay the groundwork for her identity. When it’s all done she pays him extra to take a hallucinogenic, just enough to addle his memories of the weeks spent working for her. She’s a professional, after all.

She can see the worry in Doctor Reed’s eyes each time they meet. He stays longer than he needs to each time, repeating things she already knows and things that she doesn’t really need to know (the Murarian birthing process, for example. The males lay eggs). She lets him, because she is learning that he is very kind, and the concern under all his babbling warms her hearts even after he leaves and all the lights go out and she is alone again.

On the day she is set to leave the hospital he arrives in the morning to administer the sedatives. After weeks of worried babbling, he is very quiet and he moves slowly.

“Do you have any family, Doctor Reed?” two months together, and she’d never asked him about himself, and suddenly it bothers her.

“Just my mum and grandmother,” he tells her, coming to sit next to her bed, “my Dad kicked off before I was born, we’ve never heard from him.”

“Foolish. You must not have gotten your intelligence from him then.”

He smiles at her, a warm, genuine sort of smile, and it makes him look so very young. He has a nice face, really; high, sharp cheekbones and a clean, square jaw line. His eyebrows are thick over his intelligent eyes, and there’s almost always a little crease in-between them. 

He moves to sit on the edge of her bed, right next to her, his knee brushing against her hip. 

“I will miss you,” he tells her, and there’s a stark honesty in his voice and in the way he covers her hand with his.

She smiles at him, turning her hand to squeeze just the tips of his fingers. “I’ll be back before you know it. Time travel, you know.”

“Whether it’s six minutes or six weeks, I’ll spend the entire time completely worried. Have I mentioned my high blood pressure?” he says, leaning in slightly.

“You’re much too young for high blood pressure.”

“Apparently not. Anyway, now that you know, keep it in mind, would you?”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” she teases him.

“Absolutely, it’s completely your fault,” he tells her, and kisses her forehead very quickly before he says goodbye.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Anthony Williams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and lovely comments! Very encouraging :)

She’d received the first letter from Anthony when he was six years old. Passed cleverly through time with the help of her parents, there had been zoo animals with too-many legs doodled in the corners and Rory’s neat, small handwriting over the words little Anthony had grossly misspelled.

There had been more letters over the years. She’d kept them all, along with a few pictures and the odd newspaper clipping. The plan had always been to visit him, someday, when losing her parents didn’t hurt quite so much. But then she’d gone and died, and she’d regretted it, all those years of waiting, clinging to newspaper scraps and letters when it would have been so easy to just go and find him.

He’d retired in a quiet little suburban neighborhood outside New York. He spent his time volunteering at a small non-profit children’s hospital and making regular house calls in the rougher areas of New York City proper. He was an experienced parent too, raising foster children for thirty years with his wife until she had passed away suddenly.

River materializes on Anthony’s doorstep a day before she is planning to meet Clara. The 21st century always feels nostalgic, the fresh smell of it and the neatly trimmed patch of grass and rather eccentric flower bed, all clashing colors and funny little gnomes, draws a smile. When she turns around, the door is a familiar shade of blue. She runs her fingers across the brightness of the color, somehow the shade almost exactly what it ought to be. She briefly considers using the doorbell, but, well, the door is blue, so she lets herself in.

Inside, there are framed pictures everywhere, arranged on every horizontal surface and hung on every vertical, interspersed occasionally with children’s drawings proudly showcased in frames, names and dates written in the corners.

On the table next to the front door, right next to Anthony’s wedding photo, is a family photo of Amy and Rory and Anthony between them in his early twenties. Tucked into the corner of the frame over Rory’s shoulder is a small picture of her face. She picks it up, noting the worn and faded edges around the modern, colored photo. She wonders which of her parents had been carrying the picture of her when they’d been taken by the angel.

“She has mad, curly hair, doesn’t knock, and I find her crying over my family photos,” she looks up from the picture in her hands to see Anthony standing at the end of the hall, holding a baseball bat and a smile, “hello significantly older sister Melody Pond.”

“Anthony,” she says, and her voice is strangely choked.

“Most people just call me Tony. Or Doctor Williams. Or ‘Doc Wilz’ as I’m known in, you know, the, ah, ‘hood’” he says, making quotation marks in the air.

She laughs, and he looks so much like Rory for a moment, smiling awkwardly.

“What did they call you?”

“Mom and dad? Well, they did call me Anthony, actually.”

“Well that settles it then.”

He closes the distance between them and pulls her into a firm, lingering hug. She hugs him back, and it isn’t even strange or awkward. Somehow, he smells like them, and when she closes her eyes and breathes in she can imagine that she is home.

“You ridiculous woman, Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you? What took you so long?” he says into her hair.

“I’m sorry, Anthony,” she says, “do you want to hear my excuses?”

“Well I don’t know,” he says, pulling back to grin down at her, “are they any good?”

“A bit, yeah. I did die once, very dramatically too.”

“Ah, I was wondering what was with the new look.”

“I can imagine, I can’t believe you recognized me.”

“Like I said, inviting yourself through my locked front door, crying over family photos. And the hair,” he flicks at it lightly, “pretty sure that’s Dad’s nose too.”

“Let’s not talk about that.”

>>>>>>> 

They have tea, and they talk. They have so much to talk about, and talking to Anthony, listening to Anthony, is so very easy. They lose track of time and laugh when they realize it’s 10pm, they’re starving, their tea is stone cold and neither of them have taken more than a sip. Anthony takes a frozen pizza out of the freezer, and despite the light flavor of freezer burn, it’s the best meal River has eaten since leaving the library.

Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Anthony’s eyelids are heavy and his head drops blearily at intervals as he fights to stay awake.

“You know,” he tells her, “if you’d come before I got so old I’d be able to stay awake longer.”

She laughs at him, walks around the table and the remnants of their pizza to help him out of his chair. She pulls his arm over her shoulders and helps him stumble up the stairs to bed.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to taking care of silly old men.”

With Anthony in bed, and New York still dark and relatively quiet around her, River tries to focus on her planning. She finds she’s far too happy to focus though, lying on Anthony’s coach and staring at a crack in his ceiling. She knows she’s grinning like mad, and the happiness feels like a glow hovering over the surface of her skin. She pulls her T-shirt up and writes about family and home across her stomach to the sleeping baby.

“I wish I could keep all of this feeling in a bottle,” she whispers to him, “and take it out for you when you’re scared.”

She’s crying; silly, happy, human crying.

_“Hi Honey, I’m home,” he says, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with his crossed arms contrasting the warmth in his eyes._

_“And what sort of time do you call this?” she answers, turning to face him and mirroring his stance, and so, so happy that they both know their lines._

_“Well, Doctor Song, I hear it’s called ‘Christmas time’.”_

_“Yes it is. About time you got here. They’ve been waiting for you. Every year.”_

_“Yes, well, they were supposed to think I was dead. What part of ‘tell no one what I said’ sounded like, ‘please tell your parents so they set a plate for me at Christmas every year and wait’?”_

_“Oh come now darling, you didn’t think I do everything I’m told, did you?”_

_He walks into the kitchen and wraps her up in his arms and the strangely strong scent of pine._

_“No, I’d never think that,” he says, hugging her tightly. A moment later, he murmurs into her hair, “Thank you, you mad, troublesome woman.”_

_She tightens her arms around his waist and presses as close as she can so that their matching double heartbeats align. She can tell when he hears It too because he makes a strangled sound into her hair that is a funny mix of relief, joy, and a dash of heartbreak._

_The moments tick by, and they count them together between the spaces of their heartbeats. “Hey,” he says abruptly, his voice rough, “what did you mean_ they’ve _been waiting for me every year?”_

_“Oh Sweetie,” she says, pressing a kiss to his neck and feeling him shiver, “I don’t wait for you, I come find you.”_

River only sleeps for a few hours, but wakes up on Anthony’s couch feeling more refreshed than she has in months. Possibly even years. There are no echoing gun shots or goodbye’s in her ears. She could have slept more, but the neighbor’s dog is unfortunately a bit upset about the man delivering the morning newspaper. Still, a barking dog is a much better sound to wake up to than a gunshot from the past.

Anthony is still very much asleep, so she spends a couple of hours cleaning up from the night before, and making a very large and impressive breakfast. She waits for another hour, but when Anthony still hasn’t woken up, she helps herself to some blueberry pancakes, cinnamon French toast, (she had spent a while deliberating between the two before deciding to make both) bacon, a small omelet, and a large helping of cantaloupe. Apparently, cooking is something she does now.

She wraps up the rest for Anthony and quietly locks herself in the bathroom. It takes two hours to straighten her hair, even with the fancy equipment she’d brought from the future. She douses it in scientifically advanced spray to keep it that way, and sincerely hopes the promises on the bottle are true.

“They had better be,” she mutters, glaring at the price tag, “considering what I paid for it.”

Her costume is very simple; loose jeans and a T-shirt and some rather thick glasses. She pulls her newly-straight hair back into a ponytail and studies the effect in the mirror. It helps distract from the way her mouth is shaped like her mum’s.

When she’s finished, she re-emerges from the bathroom to find Anthony yawning as he walks down the stairs in his dressing gown and house slippers. His thin gray hair sticks up awkwardly in the back and she hides a grin at the picture he makes, stopping on the stairs to blink down at her sleepily.

“Good thing you didn’t look like that yesterday, pretty sure I would’ve smacked you over the head with that bat no matter how many pictures you were crying over,” he says, taking in her new look.

“Good morning to you too Anthony,” she tells him, grinning and walking into the kitchen.

He follows, watching her throw a few more items into her small backpack.

“I’ve got to go out, I’ll probably be out late.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, sitting down at the table.

“It’s complicated,” she tells him, smiling apologetically.

He sighs, “Somehow I figured it would be.”

River opens the fridge and starts pulling out various saran-wrap covered dishes, “Anyway, I made breakfast. And lunch. Actually there’s probably enough food here for the next three days, assuming you’re alright with eating blueberry pancakes at every meal.”

“Melody,” he says, taking the wrapped pancakes from her and setting them on the table, “Does this ‘complicated’ thing you’re doing have anything do with why…. you know, _he_ isn’t with you?”

She puts the plate of bacon down on the counter, and there must be something showing on her face, because Anthony quickly says, “sorry, I wasn’t sure whether I should say something it’s just…. I always assumed you’d show up together, you know? Not that I’m in any way…. disappointed or anything, I just…. are you….okay?”

“Just because I’m not with the Doctor, that doesn’t mean I’m not okay, Anthony,” she tells him, a little surprised by the defensiveness she can hear edging her voice.

He looks at her the way Rory would always look at her when he called her bluff over a friendly hand of poker.

Blasted man.

“Melody, what’s going on? You’re here for a reason, aren’t you?”

“Seeing you isn’t enough of a reason?” she asks, feeling guilty because it _should_ have been enough of a reason to bring her here a long time ago.

“Melody….” he says, and the way he says her name is gentle rather than accusing, and it draws her hearts out.

“I’m pregnant.” The words slip out, surprising her before she even realizes she’s decided to tell him.

Anthony’s eyes fly open wide and his gaze flickers down to her stomach.

“You can’t see it right now, I’m…hiding it,” with a perception filter, embedded under the skin over her left hip bone, across from the bio-dampeners on her right. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Why?”

“Why am I pregnant?” she smirks at him, “Anthony, don’t tell me mum and dad forgot to tell you where babies come from….”

“I’m a doctor Melody, I get that part.”

She chuckles at him and his blushing, “It’s kind a of a long and complicated story, and I’m really sorry, but I have to go. I’ll explain later, ok?”

“Promise?” he asks her, his eyes serious and gentle.

“Promise,” she agrees.

He looks at her in her tennis shoes and her glasses and her backpack, a worried crease appearing between his eyes.

“Promise you’ll be safe?”

“Cross my hearts.”

She kisses his cheek and he walks to the door with her. He stands on the front step and waves until she’s out of sight.

When she’s a block away she realizes he doesn’t expect her to come back, and she bites back the guilt. Of course she’s going to come back to him, but he has no way of knowing that, not really.

_“No,” Twelve year old Amelia Pond says, turning away from the window and the stars, “I don’t think he’s coming back, Mels.”_

_It’s either twenty years, or two hundred years later (depending on your perspective) that Amy says to her daughter, “Sometimes I think that one day he just won’t come back.”_

_“Maybe, he doesn’t like goodbyes.”_

_“I know. And I get it, you know? It’s okay.”_

_“Is it?”_

_Amy sighs, tucking a few strands of red hair behind a pretty ear, “Not really, no. Just…” she pauses, then turns to face River, “promise me_ you _won’t ever do that, just up and not come back one day.”_

_“I promise.”_

_There is a tiny little part of her that is just a little glad when Amy does the disappearing first so she can keep that promise._

She takes the train into town. It’s strange, being back in the time period she grew up in, nostalgic and familiar, but a bit ill-fitting. She sits down next to a woman holding her very young daughter on her lap, and watches them out of the corner of her eye, her fingers unconsciously tracing the hem of her T-shirt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Clara Oswald and mysterious bad guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love those reviews and kudos, thanks guys!!!

“I’m Harmony.” As soon as the words have left her mouth she wants them back. So much for professionalism.

“Call me…Mo,” she says, and if she says it a little too quickly and her voice trips a little over the nickname she’s just invented on the spot, well, university sophomore Clara Oswald isn’t exactly the suspicious type. She’s a sweet, trusting little thing, a little bit spunky but not an Amelia, not by a long shot, at least not yet.

“Mo? Seriously? Are you sure you’re alright with that?” Clara asks, laughing. And actually, she’s not alright with that, not at all. Mo is a ridiculous name, ridiculous enough to draw attention to itself, which is exactly what she’s trying to avoid. And Harmony is even worse, for obvious reasons. She’d been planning on calling herself Hannah, a nice, normal name. She’d briefly considered calling herself Harmony, and she’d _wanted_ to, of course, but she’d discarded the idea quickly. Apparently not quickly enough. And now she is going to have to live with being called Mo. The only ‘Mo’ she’d ever known had been Amy’s neighbor’s cocker spaniel.

“Yeah,” she says, “It’s all I’ve been called for years, I just can’t answer to anything else,” she lets just a little bit of how upset she really is at that name creep onto her face and out of her mouth with a sigh.

“Right then, well I’m Clara, Clara Oswald.”

“See now that is a lovely name. Thanks for the pen Clara Oswald,” she says, twirling it between her fingers and grinning.

“Oh no problem, brought that from home. British pen, you know, must have been calling out to your subconscious. Good thing too, this book,” she shakes her head at the item lying open in front of her on the table, “incredibly boring,” she closes the book with a clap that is just a little too loud in the quiet university library.

“So, my new friend Mo,” she continues brightly, smiling and leaning forward, “where are you from?”

She weaves the story of Mo’s life to Clara’s bright trusting smile, and within an hour they’re friends. They have dinner together, laughing and chatting over hamburgers, and when Clara gets a text from her friends to join them at a club downtown, she insists on bringing Mo with her.

“I’m really not the club type, Clara,” she insists, pushing at her thick glasses pointedly as they finish paying for their hamburgers and step out into a crisp early autumn evening.

“Me either, that’s why you _have_ to come with me, Mo.”

“Un-cool, bad-at-clubbing people travel in pairs?”

“Birds of a feather, Mo, we have to stick together!” Clara declares, looping her arm through River’s.

It’s exactly the kind of response she’d wanted, of course, for Clara to think of her that way. She has to shove down a twist of guilt anyway.

The club is too loud and River hangs back with Clara at the bar, watching her slowly nurse the drink a shady looking character down the bar a ways had bought for her. He keeps looking at Clara, and something in his eyes sets off little alarms in River’s head. Clara, of course, is oblivious. She’s a lightweight too, and there’s already a looseness to the way she holds her glass and a slight slur to her words.

“Really Mo, you don’t drink? At all?”

“It kills brain cells.”

Clara giggles, “You’re even more un-cool than me, Mo, I’m going to have to keep you around.”

“That sounds like a great basis for our friendship, Clara,” River says, jostling the tipsy girl with her shoulder and taking a drink of her coke.

A man comes up and asks Clara to dance, and she’s just out of it enough to agree. She follows him to the dance floor, and she’s only weaving a bit, turning back to wave at River. She looks incredibly small and somehow even younger against the crowd and the flashing lights.

_Blue and silver ghost-lights stretching over her face as she tilts it, up and back._

_“Remember me.”_

River returns her wave before turning back to the bar, suddenly wishing she could drink. A glass of wine would be wonderful. She picks up Clara’s drink, swirling the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass a little regretfully, briefly fantasizing about a Time Lord pregnancy book she’ll soon find on the TARDIS, with a line that says something like, “unlike their human counterparts,  alcohol is good for the development of baby Time Lords.’”

When she looks up, something is wrong. It takes her just a moment to scan the bar and realize the man who had bought Clara’s drink is no longer there. In fact he’s nowhere near the bar. Alarms go off in River’s head, and she’s on her feet, eyes scanning the crowd as she weaves into the throng in the direction she’s seen Clara go. She sees the man Clara had gone off with, dancing with a tall blonde, no Clara in sight. Which is bad, very bad.

“Excuse me!” she yells over the music, standing at his shoulder. He doesn’t notice, but his partner does, a confused sort of look on her heavily made-up face as she takes in River’s out-of-place clothing. She whispers something in his ear and he turns around. He doesn’t seem to recognize her.

 “My friend, the girl you were dancing with before, where’d she go?”

“Cute little brunette?”

“That’s the one.”

“Some guy wanted to talk to her, said he was from her school.”

Bad. Very bad.

“Did you see where they went?”

“Um, that way I think,” he says, pointing off somewhere over her left shoulder.

“Thanks,” she tells him, “nice shoes,” she tells his partner. They are nice shoes, strappy but with a decently thick heel. They look like they’d be good for running. Rivers spares her tennis shoes a brief, regretful glare. 

She continues through the crowd in the direction he’d said, and she finds them. He’s standing too close, sort of looming, and his hand is on Clara’s arm. He turns and starts walking back toward where the more private booths are, taking Clara with him. He’s just sitting Clara down, a bit too insistently for comfort, when River catches up.

“There you are! Geez Clara, everyone’s looking for you,” she says, angling her body so she can see where his hands are at all times. Up-close she likes him even less. His eyes still have that look that had worried her before, and now the way he moves and the set of his shoulders is far too confidant, too _trained_ , and it makes her fingers twitch for her gun.

“Mo!” Clara says, moving to stand up, but the stranger is still too close, and he doesn’t move, blocking her from exiting the booth, “Sorry, Mo, this is…..” she trails off, and River does her best not to roll her eyes, because really, who wanders off with a man twice her size who hasn’t even properly introduced himself?

“Tom,” the big man says, eyeing River in the same way she’s been eyeing him, “my name’s Tom, I’ve seen Clara around at school.”

 “So you’re a student?

His smile is arrogant, and he’s far too bold when he says, “I could be.”

“Okay. Clara it’s time to go,” she says, pushing into his personal space, trying to crowd him away from Clara. For a moment he doesn’t move and his hot breath fans across the back of her neck as she picks up Clara’s arm and pulls her out of the booth. He doesn’t smell right. There’s a faint electric smell, and not enough of the earthy, sweaty, _humany_ smell that 21 st century toiletries aren’t developed enough to cover. She turns to face him, and with a smirk he finally takes a step back, something metallic glittering in his hand.

She takes a moment to commit his face to memory, and then takes Clara’s arm and pulls her back toward the bar quickly.

“That guy was kind of creepy wasn’t he Mo?” Clara yells in her ear.

“Obviously! Come _on_ Clara, you can’t just skip off with some guy you know nothing about! You didn’t even know his _name!_ ”

“He bought me a drink…”

“I don’t care if he saved your bloody life, do not go anywhere with weird men!”

*******************************

As soon as she has Clara safely secured at the bar with a group of her friends taking a break from dancing, River slips to the edge of the room and circles back toward the booths. She’s just in time to see the man who had taken Clara slipping out through a back door. She follows, carefully opening the door and ducking behind some overflowing rubbish bins just outside.

Clara’s new friend is talking to someone on what River recognizes immediately is a very fancy, early Time Agency issue communicator.

“-so she was interesting. Oswald though, she didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.”

He’s quiet for a moment, listening.

“…..Of course I got a sample, a piece of hair, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. I scanned her and, get this, _all_ the readings were inconclusive. She’s got to be using bio-dampeners.”

There’s a longer moment of quiet, and then;

“Should I try to put a tracker on her too? She’s probably still here.”

There’s more silence, and then,

“Right then, understood, I’ll let you know how everything goes.”

River moves quickly, knowing he’ll be turning back to the door, and she needs to be inside, with Clara, by the time he starts looking for them. She’d apparently done enough to arouse his suspicions for one evening.

She slips quietly back into the building, watching the man turn towards the door just as she quietly pulls it closed behind her. She locks it, hoping he’ll assume it’s an automatic lock, and hurries back toward the bar.

Clara is still there, but her friends are not. River suppresses a flash of frustration, because really, who leaves their drunk friend alone at a bar? Especially Clara, who’s already proven she has a tendency to wander off with strangers.

“Clara,” she says, coming up next to her, “where did everyone go?”

“Dunno,” answers Clara, and now River can see that there’s another empty glass in front of her.

“Did you have another drink?”

“…yes.”

“Clara, Clara, why are you doing this to yourself?” she asks her, exasperated.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the man from outside approaching from the direction of the front entrance. He stops when he sees them.

“Evan bought it for me.”

“Evan? Who’s Even?” River asks, distracted.

“Have you ever seen that one movie, with the blonde girl who sings and the glass shoes?”

“…Cinderalla?” Over Clara’s stooped shoulder she watches him from the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t make any attempt to get closer, which means he’s either waiting for an opportunity, or he’d been told by his boss not to bother getting any trackers on her. Not that she’d let him.

“That’s the one,” Clara says.

“Clara, what are you talking about?”

“You know that hot bloke who marries her?”

“…the prince?”

“Yes. That’s Evan,” and then she starts to tear up, “but I’m not his Snow White,” and then she’s blubbering, still going on about Evan, and through the tears River gathers that Evan bought her the drink, and then proceeded to run off and snog some girl named Carrie. Or maybe Candy, she can’t really tell.

“Okay,” River says, “I think it’s time to go home.”

 

The strange man doesn’t make any move to stop them, and River somehow navigates the public transportation system with Clara, who alternatives between manically happy and weepy every few minutes. At one point, she looks up from River’s shoulder and says, “Mo, I think I’m drunk!”

“Really now?”

“I think so, do you think so? I’ve never been, before,” she giggles, and then the giggling turns into tears again, and River rubs her back and watches the city slip by outside the bus window.

“Really,” she whispers, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be having the mood swings.”

Clara manages to direct River to the dorm room where she’s staying, and River stays with her, helping her get cleaned up and into pajamas before she crawls into bed.

Clara doesn’t have a roommate, but the room has an extra bed, and River settles herself on it, feeling guilty that she won’t make it back to Anthony tonight. She can’t leave Clara alone like she is though, especially with some unknown time traveling entity apparently taking an interest in her. She also needs to figure out what kind of tracking device the man at the club had planted on her. Pulling her computer out of her pocket, River scans Clara’s passed out body, and sure enough, he’d slipped nano-trackers into her blood stream, probably via injection while he was holding onto her arm. They’re very good trackers too, transmitting not just her location but everything she says and does as well. The thought of it makes River’s skin crawl, and her first thought is to neutralize them immediately. It would be too easy though, for him to find Clara again. Better to wait until Clara’s left New York.

Unhappy but resigned River settles onto the extra bed. She checks to make sure that Clara is still very much passed out before tapping against her hip bone in a specific pattern to drop the perception field around her abdomen. It’s still a rather small bump, but she smiles when she sees it.

“Hello there baby,” she whispers, sliding her fingers across her stomach. He’s still sleeping, of course. Even through the bio-dampeners she can feel the soft, resting hum of his little mind.

“Since you’re asleep, I can tell a story about your Grandma being naughty,” she smiles, resting her head back and staring up at the ceiling, remembering.

_Rory collapses next to her on the floor of the hotel room, resting his head back against the mattress of the bed._

_“Told you this was a bad idea,” he says._

_“Oh_ please _Rory, don’t start,” Mels’ voice comes out muffled, her head resting against her knees, “it turned out alright in the end.”_

_“Sure,” Rory answers, “if by ‘alright’ you mean, ‘avoided getting arrested’.”_

_“I didn’t think she’d be such a light weight,” Mels says, a rare apology edging her words, “thank you for coming. I know it’s far, and, uh, pretty late,” she pauses, then continues softly, “you didn’t have to come, you know.”_

_“Mels,” Rory bumps his shoulder against hers, and Mels turns her resting head to look up at him, “I will_ always _come.”_

_Behind them Amy lets out a loud, gurgling snore and they dissolve into giggles._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a slow chapter, but it will pick up soon!

The next day Clara is miserable.

“I am never drinking again. I am never going to drink _anything_ ever again,” she takes a sip of her tea, and continues, “except tea, I am going to drink tea. I am going to drink _so_ much tea,” she takes a large gulp from the mug in her hands.

“That, my friend, is a very good idea.”

Clara sighs, resting her head back against the wall, “Thanks, Mo, for taking care of me last night. I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t there.”

“Well I do. You’d have run off with Tom the Creeper.”

Clara giggles, then grimaces and grabs her head, “Exactly, which is why I’m glad you were there.”

River is glad she was there too. Very glad. No Clara means no one jumping into the Doctor’s timeline to save him. No one to save the Doctor means no Doctor, which probably means no her and certainly means no baby. And then….

_“It’s working,” she says, meeting Amy’s eyes over the top of the transmitter._

_A breeze from the desert blows her mother’s long red hair across her only exposed eye._

_“What are they saying?” Amy asks, curious. She doesn’t remember much, but it’s enough. Enough to draw pictures and dream. Enough to come find River and make mad plans with her on top of a pyramid._

_“They’re saying, ‘Of course’,” she smiles, a lump in her throat, “They’re saying of course they’ll come help him, anything he needs.”_

_“Good,” Amy says, and then she pauses, looking puzzled, “Why?” she asks, and River can see her, struggling to remember._

_“Because he saved them first.”_

_“And they remember?”_

_River smiles at her, remembers a little girl with full cheeks and a stubborn scowl, “do you?”_

_“Not really.”_

_“But you’re here.”_

_An understanding smile blooms across her face, “I am, aren’t I?” she steps back and tilts her head up to the stars, all the planets, all the voices answering back, “Did he save me too?”_

_“Yes,” River says._

_“And all of them?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And you?”_

_“Most definitely, yes.”_

“You know what Clara, I’m glad I was there too.”

Clara smiles at her, bright and honest and River feels that twist of guilt that is starting to become familiar.

“It’s hard to believe I just met you yesterday, Mo.”

“Why’s that?”

“I feel like you’re my best friend.”

River takes a long swallow of tea to give her a moment to fix a smile on her face, “That’s what I’m here for, Clara.”

River doesn’t manage to extricate herself from Clara’s post-drunken miseries until the afternoon, and by the time she makes it back to Antony’s blessedly quiet little neighborhood it has been well over 24 hours since she’d left. Anthony had given her a key. She doesn’t really need it, but it feels good to slip the key into the familiar blue color of the door.

Anthony isn’t home, but there’s a note tucked pointedly under the frame of the picture that had caught her eye the day before.

In blue ink he’d written, “I’ll be back after 6:00, I’m bringing curry for two, Mom said you liked curry, hope you still do.”

And it was signed, ‘Love always, Anthony.” River slipped the note into her pocket to add to her collection of letters from him. If she could ever find her collection again, of course.

River taps into the feed she’d set up on the trackers in Clara’s blood stream and turns on the nearly invisible, wall mounted surveillance camera she’d installed in Clara’s dorm room, leaving both programs open and running on her handheld computer as she slips into the shower, washing away the scent of the seedy club and the straightness of Mo’s hair. The trickle of guilt doesn’t wash away as easily, but she pushes it away, deactivating the perception filter over her stomach to remind herself of _why_ she’s manipulating sweet young Clara like she is.

When she emerges from the shower she wipes the fog from the glass and looks at herself in the mirror. The new face and body still don’t really seem like hers yet, but with the drying curls recoiling themselves around her shoulders and the bump between her hip bones where her son is sleeping, she feels more like herself. She happily by-passes Mo’s frumpy clothes for a silky, collar bone-barring tunic and leggings, and doesn’t bother to turn the perception filter back on.

She spends the rest of the afternoon unpacking and setting up everything she’ll need to stay in touch with Clara over the next three years of her personal time stream within the space of two weeks. Most of the equipment is black-market time agency materials, or soddy boot-legged knock offs. Not exactly Tardis-level time manipulation, but hopefully it will hold for just two weeks.

By the time Anthony gets home, trailing the scent of curry and hospital in a very Rory-reminiscent way, she’s transformed his guest room into something resembling a tactical war room. Anthony stands in the doorway, studying the map on the wall of Clara’s timeline, the 21st century laptop and cell phone surrounded by futuristic time-warping technology, and the mad tangle of blinking lights, wires and glowing energy fields.

“Well,” he says, “I guess this means you’re staying for awhile?”

*******

Over curry, River explains as best she can about the library, the baby, regeneration and (a bit shamefully) about Clara.

When she’s finished, Anthony sits back in his seat and says, “Wow”.

“Pretty crazy, isn’t it?”

“Completely.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and she can see Anthony thinking, processing everything she’s told him.

“Ok,” he says, sitting forward again, “One thing I don’t understand.”

She nods, and he continues, “Why this elaborate plot to…infiltrate the Tardis? Why don’t you just go find the Doctor and tell him?” He searches her face with his eyes, his voice growing gentle, “Did something happen, between you two, after Mom and Dad left?”

“You mean other than that part where I died? To be honest, that did put a bit of a damper on our relationship,” she jokes, standing up and gathering their empty curry containers.

“Melody,” Anthony says, his hand covering and stilling hers.

With a sigh she sets the trash back down on the table and settles back into her seat. His hand doesn’t leave hers and she twists hers around to grip his fingers.

“Two things happened,” she says, steeling herself to finally voice the things she’s not yet been able to say aloud.

“First, I saw it all from his perspective, at the end, and I had a long time, stuck in the library, to think about what it meant.”

She stops again, staring down at Anthony’s fingers wrapped around hers. There’s an age spot, brown and misshapen at the base of his pointer finger.

“The first time he met me, I died, and he watched. I took his place, and I died, and I saved him. Saved myself too, really, but he wouldn’t see it that way.”

_It all makes sense now, and finally she can see him, her Doctor, in the growing horror on this very different face as he realizes she is going to die, and he is helpless to stop it._

_“Ssshh, you’ll see me again, it’s not over for you, you have all that to come.”_

_Even as the words slip out, she realizes that they’re not comforting. Every time he sees her, he will remember this. He_ had _remembered this._

_It’s too late to fix it now. Back to front and this is his beginning and her end._

_“You and me, time and space, you watch us run.”_

“And then?” Anthony prompts, gently, and she looks up from the dark spot on his hand.

“And then he kept meeting me, and I think, probably, at first he thought he would avoid it, us becoming…us. He thought he could re-write it.”

_“Is River Song your wife?”_

_He’s all taught lines and frustration as he snaps, “Yes, I am mister grumpy pants today.”_

“But then he went to Demon’s Run.”

She sees recognition in Anthony’s eyes, a shadow of Amy’s pretty face twisted in pain over the glint of a silver gun and an empty cot.

“He realized, then, who I was, what I was, and how I became this way, _why_ I became this way. And then he found out he couldn’t save me.”

 _She realized, one day, as she sat next to Charlotte with the blue diary in her hands_ , _that the day he’d given it to her had been his final surrender to the future he’d already seen the end of._

“We were married for 407 years, before the library. From my perspective, anyway.”

Anthony looks suitably shocked at that number, but he stays quiet, and his hand stays wrapped around hers.

“I know him _so well_.”

She has to stop again, looking down as she gathers the words, “he felt guilty, Anthony, so very guilty. He gave me the one thing I asked him for, at the end, but…. that doesn’t mean that it was what he would have chosen, what he wanted.”

She stops, meeting Anthony’s eyes, “Do you understand what I mean?”

He nods slowly, “and the second thing?”

She smiles, feeling the sadness twist the corners of her mouth, “I saw him move on. He always does, he has to, really. He’s alright now, and I think it’s better, to just… leave things the way they are now. It’s not so bad. I got my goodbye, my closure, and so did he. It’s better to end this way.”

She squeezes his hand, forces a wider smile, “Anyway, I’m alright now. I’ve got you, and this baby, and we’re going to be alright.”

“Of course you do, but, well,” he grins softly, “I am pretty wonderful, no doubt about that,” she laughs and nods, agreeing, “But I know you miss him, Melody. I can tell because, well, I’m missing someone too, aren’t I?” he looks down, at their joined hands, “And I know how it is, the missing someone, it just sort of stays with you; when you’re happy or sad, no matter who you’re with,” he squeezes her hand, “no matter how many wonderful people you manage to fill your life with, the missing person’s spot is still empty, and the missing them just sort of lingers. I can’t imagine choosing that, if, you know, there was another way. Are you sure you want this?”

“No,” she answers him gently, “but this is… it’s better than the alternative.” She gives his hand a final squeeze, and then she stands, picking up the garbage and walking over to the sink. He doesn’t stop her this time, and he’s quiet for a long moment, the soft cluttering of dishes and the hum of the refrigerator the only sounds in the still kitchen.

“Because,” he says, a bit abruptly, apparently unconvinced, “you’re afraid you might find out he doesn’t, and never did, love you the way you love him.”

River grips the sink, her knuckles turning white to match the porcelain, “Or maybe I just don’t want a husband who only stays with me out of guilt, is that so bad?”

Behind her she hears the scrape of Anthony’s chair legs on the floor, and then his hands on her shoulders. He turns her around gently, ducking his head to catch her eyes.

“I can’t imagine anyone not loving you,” and then he hugs her, warm and solid, and she wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder. The Rory-ness of him slows her hearts and she feels the tension drain out of her.

“You’re completely right about one thing though, you _have_ got me, and I’m not going anywhere, no matter what, alright?” he says, his chin bumping against the top of her head as he speaks.

“Ok,” River answers him, tightening her arms around him. She knows better than anyone that nobody can stay forever, but he’s here with her now, and it’s enough.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

She spends most of the next week either spending time with Clara in New York, or answering emails and phone calls from future Clara already back in England. She sends future Clara a package of her favorite snacks from New York, laced with micro-bots to counteract the trackers in her blood stream, and watches in satisfaction as the signal disappears from her monitor screen a day after Clara received the package.   
When she’s home, and not contacting Clara, she spends time with Anthony. She meets his friends, co-workers and former foster kids who bring their own kids to visit him. They all call him “Grandpa”, and Anthony’s face lights up every time. He introduces her as his niece visiting from England, and they laugh over the role-reversal when no one else is around.   
She cooks dinner at night, he helps, and they eat together. Anthony is very much the retired and widowed bachelor, his freezer well stocked with frozen meals, and cooking really is something she enjoys now, which is new. She’s not sure if it’s the pregnancy hormones, the new regeneration or some combination of the two, but Anthony appreciates it, and it’s calming and normal in the midst of everything else.   
When present-Clara goes back, River goes to the airport with her, and they have a suitably tearful farewell. It’s a little easier after that to keep track of the timeline, and River visits her a couple times in England for a few days over Clara’s summer holidays.   
On her first visit, just a few days for her after saying goodbye to Clara, but a year later for Clara, she’s settled on an air mattress next to Clara’s bed, waiting for Clara to fall asleep so she can answer waiting emails from future Clara.  
Clara starts to talk about her mother, her voice soft and sad in the darkness of the room.   
When her voice catches, all River can think about is Amy.  
“Scoot over Clara,” she says, and climbs onto the narrow bed with her. She wraps her arm around Clara, and Clara rest her head on her shoulder.   
“What’s your favorite memory of her?” River asks, and Clara tells her a story about a disastrous Christmas and setting a soufflé on fire. She falls asleep smiling, and River stays with her, running her fingers through Clara’s brown hair as her breathing deepens and eyelids begin to flutter.   
River blames the maternal feelings she develops after that on pregnancy hormones and Clara’s naivety, which proves to be dangerous on more than one occasion. She sends an uncomfortable amount of emails lecturing Clara about her need to be more cautious and less open with people she hardly knows. The irony is not lost on her. She also spends a lot of time checking up on the people Clara meets, always asking for full names and cross-checking, looking for someone that shouldn’t be there, like the man at the club.   
There’s only one time that someone seems really threatening, and River hops over to England at the time of Clara’s email, following quietly and watching the handsome young man drop Clara off. He drives a short distance away, parks his car in an alley and pulls out a vortex manipulator. He’s gone in a familiar crackle of electricity.   
River steals his car. He hasn’t left anything interesting in it except a wallet with what is clearly a fake ID. She pops into a supermarket for a bottle of whiskey, pours half of the amber liquid out the window and throws the bottle under the passenger seat, leaving a trail of whiskey across the upholstery and pooling on the floor. She then proceeds to crash the car into the nearest empty building, which happens to be the local public library. As she runs away from the smoldering car and the sound of approaching sirens, she drops his wallet a short distance away.   
By the time River gets back to Anthony’s house, the smell of whiskey and smoke clinging to her clothes, there’s a voice message from a weepy Clara.   
“Mo, it was terrible, the police came and there was a car accident, at the library! They said he was drinking, oh my gosh, he’s going to go to jail and the library was on fire!”  
Anthony sticks his head in the door, “Did you set a library on fire?”  
“Hush Anthony,” River says, dialing Clara’s number, “Clara’s very upset and I need to call her back.”  
“Yes, well, just try not to sound as pleased with yourself as you look at the moment.”  
It is indeed hard to sound regretful with a grin splitting her face, but River manages.  
“Maybe he just wasn’t who you thought he was, Clara,” she comforts her gently over the phone, “Someone better will come along.”  
And then one day that someone better does indeed come along.   
An email from Clara arrives, full of stories about a funny man who wanted to take her traveling, a plane crash and internet problems. Clara also downloads Skype and figures out how to set up a webcam, a feat which had been utterly impossible for her before.  
“Oh, I have a new friend who’s been helping me,” she says vaguely when River asks her about her sudden drastic leap in technological skills.   
“The same friend who wants to take you traveling?”  
“Well, yeah… but it’s not what you think!” Clara says quickly. “You’d be proud of me, Mo, he wanted to take me with him right then, but I said ‘no!’”  
“You did?” River asks, suddenly worried that her interference had changed things, that Clara would not go traveling with the Doctor like she was supposed to because her good friend Mo had taught her to be more careful of strangers.  
“I did!” Clara affirms, looking proud of herself in the grainy Skype image.  
“So…you’re not seeing him anymore?”  
“Oh, well, yes I am. But just once a week! On Wednesdays.”  
River covers up her relief with a frown and says, “Clara, you should be careful. Where does he take you?”  
“Oh, you know, around. It’s just Wednesdays so nowhere to….distant.” Clara is a terrible liar and even over Skype River can see the guilt on her face at the blatant lie.   
“In his car?”  
“Um, yeah, in his….car. It’s blue,” she says, quickly, like that one truth will make up for the lie.  
“Doesn’t that seem a little dangerous? I mean, how long have you know this guy, really? And you said he was weird, you said he showed up at your front door in a bathrobe acting like he knew you, like a stalker or something.”  
“He’s just a little eccentric. And it wasn’t a bathrobe, it was a….well, it was a monk’s robe – what do they call those? A habit? Anyway, we took the kids with us last week, to a theme park! Well, it turned out the theme park had been closed down, and it was a bit dangerous, but he was very nice to the kids!”  
“Sometime serial killers do nice things to throw off their prey.”  
”Mo!”  
When the call with Clara is finished River walks to the timeline pinned to the wall. It’s covered with marks now, all of her conversations with Clara marked in red, with notes in between filling the gaps. For Clara it had been almost two years since her week in New York. She’d changed since then. It had been fascinating to watch on fast-forward, the transformation into the brave young woman River had watched save the Doctor, and consequently the universe, at Trenzalore.   
River slips a blue pen out of the pack. There’s only one other blue mark on the timeline. She’d marked it there after her previous conversation with Clara, not long after she’d met the Doctor. She marks the new point on Clara’s time line with a blue square, and measures the time in between. It had been a few months now for Clara of traveling with the Doctor, which put Tranzalore right around the corner for her. River had been waiting for it, but suddenly she remembers Clara’s face, lit up in blue and silver as she’d faced certain death.  
“Remember me,” she says, finally, a sad but brave little smile on her pretty face. Her hair swings against her narrow shoulders as she turns back to the twisting, shimmering pillar, and she is so very small against it.  
“I’m sorry Clara,” she says to the timeline on the wall, criss-crossed with colorful shapes and rimmed with scribbled notes, “you’ll be brilliant though, completely amazing.”  
******  
Knowing she’s getting close, River contacts Clara more frequently, while Clara’s responses come slower and grow vague. She knows it’s because Clara is with the Doctor, she understands, really, but it feels strange, like Clara is slipping away into that other world, the Doctor’s world that her friend Mo isn’t part of.   
“Stupid hormones,” she tells the baby after a Skype call with a particularly distracted Clara, “it’s your fault I feel this way. Honestly, I’ve only really known her for two weeks.”

***  
She knows the moment she hears Clara’s voice that she’s finally post-Tranzalore. She can hear the familiar weight of lifetimes in her voice.  
“Clara, you…you sound…different,” she says, gently, “is everything alright?”  
The line is quiet for a moment, and of course she isn’t, how could she be? River hears a long exhale, “Mo, I feel….” She stops, laughs humorlessly, “I can’t really say,” she says finally, “If I said I feel like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes within the space of ten minutes, would that make any sense?” River rubs the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes in exasperation as she reads between the lines. He’d taken her back ten minutes after he’d taken her away to Trenzalore. The idiot.   
“Not really,” she lies, “Can you tell me what happened?”  
“I….it’s really hard to explain Mo.”  
“Well, would a hug help?”  
Clara laughs, and says, “Actually, that sounds perfect right now. I don’t suppose you could teleport over here real quick and give me one?”  
River picks up the vortex manipulator sitting on the desk next to the computer, twirling it around her fingers.   
“I’ll work on it,” she says, and Clara chuckles. “Actually, remember how I said my uncle wanted to make a trip to England to visit family?”  
“Um,” says Clara, tiredly, and clearly she doesn’t, “honestly Mo I’m having trouble keeping things straight in my head right now.”  
“Well, doesn’t matter really,” River says, “the point is, I’m coming over there next week.”  
“What, really?”  
“Consider this my air mattress reservation, okay?”  
“Mo, I…. it would be great to see you, but I think I might be…. Different, since last time. I mean, we always have a lot of fun, you know?”  
“You bet we do,” says River, which is true, actually  
“But,” continues Clara, “I might not be as much fun anymore, at least not right now.”   
“Psh,” says River, “you just want all the air mattresses to yourself you little hoarder.”  
Clara laughs tiredly, and River doesn’t wait for her to respond.  
“Anyway, I’m coming Thursday, I’ll stay until I feel that I’ve filled my Clara quota. Could be two days, could be ten, we’ll just have to wait and see.”  
****  
She goes downstairs, to Anthony, sitting on the couch working on a crossword puzzle on the back of an old newspaper. There’s a Star-Trek re-run playing on the television. She walks up behind him, bending over the back of the couch to wrap her arms around his shoulders and rest her chin on the top of his head. He sets the newspaper down and pats her arm, Captain Kirk’s voice soft in the background.  
“I loved this show, when I was a kid. I thought it was the closest I could get to seeing mom and dad’s stories,” he chuckles, “I don’t suppose the rocks really bounce like styrofoam on alien planets though, do they?”  
“Well, depends on the gravity of the planet and composition of the rock, really. It’s not impossible. Those strings though, I’ve never seen an alien bird with those.”  
Anthony laughs and she squeezes his shoulders a little tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his grey head.  
He stiffens suddenly, the warmth of the buzz of his mind growing cold, “Are you leaving?” he asks.  
She nods, “I just got off the phone with Clara, it’s time to go,” she feels him slump in her arms, “do you want to come with me? Visit Leadworth, maybe?”  
He turns to face her and she lets her arms slip from his shoulders, “Really?” he asks.  
“Well… yeah. If you want to, I mean.” He’s looking at her strangely, searching. River frowns, “What is it?”  
“I just…. I’ve been dreading it, ever since you appeared. I thought you’d leave, and that would be that….”  
A tear slips down one cheek and he turns away, looking embarrassed, “Gosh I’m old, you know how we old people get with the watery eyes, next week I’ll be drooling, just you wait.”  
“Better pack some tissues then.”  
“Why? Haven’t got those in the future?”   
He turns back to her with a smile, eyes slightly red.   
“When are we leaving?”  
“Very soon. I’ve got some things to do first though. I thought I’d drop you off in Leadworth.”  
“In Leadworth when, exactly?”  
“Recently, I think, maybe a few years in the future. Have to avoid those paradoxes, you know. Would you like to meet your Granddad? Because I’ve got this funny feeling he would be pretty thrilled to meet you.”  
“Because we’re in the same age range and will have lots in common?”  
“I think you’re older, actually.”  
“Lovely.”  
“Hey Mister, I’m older than both of you combined, so no complaining, got it?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Doctor, finally. You're welcome ;)

She drops Anthony off on the sidewalk outside Amy and Rory’s house, a week after their disappearance. Brian is inside, still waiting. Anthony has an old, yellowing letter in his coat pocket for him. On the front of the envelope ‘Dad’ is written in Rory’s familiar handwriting. Standing in front of the blue door Anthony runs one finger against the familiar color before he rings the doorbell. River watches until Brian’s tired face appears in the doorway, waiting until he opens the door for Anthony to slip inside. She steps back into an alley, pulling her sleeve back to reveal the vortex manipulator on her wrist.

She materializes in a bathroom stall. A woman pushes open the unlocked door, her face buried in her smartphone. The door bumps up against the small suitcase at River’s feet, and the woman looks up, startled.

“Oh! Geeze, sorry!” she says, quickly backing out. River locks the door behind her and waits a moment before flushing the toilet and stepping out herself.

Heathrow airport is busy and crowded even so early in the morning, and it takes her forever to catch a cab. Standing on the curb, her hood pulled up against the rain as yet another full cab speeds by her, River regrets for a moment not just materializing near Clara’s house as usual. Chances are the Doctor won’t check her story anyway.

By the time she arrives in front of the brown house where Clara lives, it’s late afternoon, as planned, on Wednesday. She rings the doorbell, a couple of times, again, for appearance sake, because she knows Clara won’t be there. No one is home, the kids presumably still at school, so River walks around to the back yard, makes a small show of peering helplessly through the windows. In her head she calculates how long it would actually take her to break into the house; about five seconds.

Eventually she settles in the backyard to wait, pulling an incredibly boring political textbook out of her backpack. The Doctor hates politics. She’s not terribly fond of them either, but she pretends to read, flipping the pages at regular intervals.

About half an hour later she _feels_ the Tardis coming even before she hears the squeal of the brakes. She is bright and golden and blue and oh so familiar against her mind.

_She closes the door on the cold emptiness of her first night in prison. “The dress is a little daring,” she says, like this happens all the time, and he is smiling at her like it does._

_“Yep, so I went for this instead.”_

_“Are we going out?”_

_“Your parents are asleep. How’s Stormcage?” She can still feel it, cold, clammy against her skin like it wants to crawl in and line the marrow of her bones. There’s something about the way he looks at her though, out of the corner of his eye, braced for bitterness and blame, so she shrugs, lightly like the cold can’t touch her._

_“I’m on the first night of 12,000 consecutive life sentences, kind of early to say,” like it doesn’t matter, and maybe tonight it doesn’t. He’d come for her after all. “Where are we going?”_

_He plays along, launching immediately into a vivid description of their destination. It’s only later, when the night is lit up like daylight (only magic) when he finally stop talking and he holds her and she can feel how much it really does matter in the strength of his arms. She borrows into him, wrapping herself up in his warmth and feels the Stormcage frost melt from her skin._

_“Happy first honeymoon,” he says._

As the Tardis materializes she tries to fix a shocked sort of look on her face, but has a feeling she doesn’t quite manage it.

She makes a show of approaching cautiously, and takes a startled step back when the door swings open and Clara steps out. River remembers the shoes she’s wearing from Trenzalore.

“Clara?!” she gasps, “What the- what is that thing?”

“Mo?!” Clara says, staring at her in shock, “Oh my gosh. Okay. Hang on a second,”  She disappears back into the Tardis, leaving the door half-open behind her,  “Doctor!” River hears her yell, “You missed the landing again! It’s Thursday!”

“Impossible!” His voice drifts out through the open door and River is glad Clara is looking away as she has to take a moment to collect herself. She opens her eyes just as Clara appears in the doorway of the Tardis again,

“Okay,” she says, holding up her hands like she’s trying to calm a frightened animal, “so I know this is really weird, but I can explain! Just hang on a second and-“

“It’s Wednesday,” River says, faintly, cutting her off.

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday, not Thursday, I came early. Um…surprise,” she says, weakly.

“Ha!” Says the Doctor, flinging the door open and stepping out of the Tardis, turning to face Clara, “You see Clara? It _is_ Wednesday!” he does his familiar twirl, and suddenly there he is, with his familiar face and his hair flopping over his forehead. It’s all wrong though.

_“Get out. As you’re leaving, and you’re leaving now…”_

There is nothing in his eyes. No recognition, no admiration, not even a flicker of annoyance or curiosity. Nothing.

“Hello there, and who are you?”

_“Who are you?_ ”

And just like that, she’s angry. She grabs onto the emotion as it rises, channeling it around the edges of her mask to set like concrete.

“I’m Mo,” she says, and the chill in her voice isn’t an act, “who the hell are you?” she lets her eyes flicker over him, head to toe, lets the anger slip out and over her features in derision.

“I’m the Doctor,” he answers, brow furrowing in the face of her anger, “this is my friend Clara.” He looks around,  “This is Clara’s backyard.”

“No,” she snaps, “that is _my_ friend Clara.”

She cranes her neck to look around him at Clara, “Oh no, Clara, please tell me this isn’t the weird stalker bathrobe man.”

“Well…yeah,” Clara says, looking down at the toes of her pretty brown shoes.

“What?!” The Doctor squawks, “This is not a bathrobe! This is a very nice coat.”

She crosses her arms, “Ah I see, It’s his fault, isn’t it, the thing that happened,” she steps closer, eying him with raised eyebrows, then looking back at Clara, “Really? This guy? I thought he’d at least be a bit attractive.”

“Oi!”

_“You didn’t say I was hot?!”_

She points at the Tardis, “And what is that?”

“It’s a telephone box,” says the Doctor, “Can’t you read?”

“Shut up,” she tells him, glaring, “I’m talking to Clara right now.”

Clara sights, rubbing her forehead, “Let’s go inside and have tea, ok? Then we can talk. With tea. We can drink tea, and talk.”

****

Over tea River listens to Clara explain about the Doctor and the Tardis, about time travel and adventures, and finally about Trenzalore.

When she gets to the bit about Trenzalore, the Doctor gets up and starts to wander around the house, fiddling with things and muttering to himself.

“Right,” says River, when Clara’s finished and the Doctor’s returned to the living room. She stands up, walks over to the Doctor and glares up at him, noting idly that he seems taller now. The chin looks even larger from her new vantage point. “What have you done to Clara?” she demands.

“What - She just told you!”

“Do you really think I’d believe any of that? Time Travel? Please. It’s some kind of drug, isn’t it? You’ve been drugging her, haven’t you?” she pokes his chest, hard, and he rocks back on his heels, gaping at her.

“Mo!” says Clara from behind her, “he hasn’t been drugging me! You saw it, in the backyard, that blue box, it just appeared, right? That’s it, that’s his time machine.”

“It’s some kind of trick,” she says, not looking away from the Doctor, “I’m going to call the police, the _real_ police, on my mobile, how do you like that, eh?”

“Don’t care really,” he snaps back.

“Right, because you’ll just fly away in your wooden box, right? Ha!”

“That’s right, that’s exactly what I’ll do!” he says angrily, “Right now! I’ll see you next week, Clara,” and then he stomps out, slamming the door childishly as he lets himself out. She watches him through the window, long angry strides carrying him across the yard to the Tardis. The doors close behind him, and River pictures him in her head, circling the console in a familiar pattern as he prepares to set off. She knows the exact moment that the Tardis should disappear, but it doesn’t. She frowns, puzzled.

Behind her Clara sighs, “I know it sounds crazy, Mo.”

“No, Clara, it actually _is_ crazy,” River says, not looking away from the Tardis in the backyard.

Clara sighs and comes to stand beside her, looking out the window herself. “Oh, he’s still here, I wonder what the hold-up is.”

“Maybe it’s because his time machine is a wooden box.”

Clara rolls her eyes, “That’s just what it looks like, Mo.”

“If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck….”

“What happened to “Things aren’t always as they appear, Clara’?”

“If a strange man tells you he wants to take you time traveling in his box, I think it’s pretty safe to assume he’s mad.”

Clara smiles wryly, “Well, I wouldn’t say he’s not mad.”

River follows Clara into the backyard, complaining and fiddling with her mobile as she continues to threatens to phone the police. The Doctor is circling the exterior of the Tardis, knocking on the walls and pressing his ear to the wood in apparently random places, all while muttering to himself under his breath.

She catches Clara’s eye, raises her eyebrows pointedly and swirls her finger around her ear, mouthing _‘nutters’._

Clara rolls her eyes and follows the Doctor around to the far side of the Tardis, leaving River three short steps away from the double doors, hanging open just a crack.

She takes the three steps, stops and traces her finger down the edge of the open door. She can hear Clara and the Doctor still on the far side of the Tardis, so she lets her eyes drift closed and pushes against the weight of the bio-dampeners until the golden warmth of the Tardis uncurls against her mind like fingers reaching out to brush back against her own. The bio-dampeners make it tricky, like trying to have a conversation underwater, but there is a muted and happy flood of recognition that threatens to leave her in tears. With a smile she opens her eyes, wraps her fingers around the edge of the door and pulls it open just enough to slip inside.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River is finally back on the Tardis!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I don't think I've ever received so many threats to keep writing.... and I love it! Thank you for the encouraging comments and the kudos! And here you go - River on the Tardis with the Doctor, finally!

Inside the Tardis, it’s easier. The bio-dampeners aren’t quite as effective and the happiness that rolls over her mind draws a soft breathless laugh. She wants to stay there and bask in the familiarity, the homecoming, but she knows there isn’t time, that in a moment Clara and the Doctor will realize and follow her. She closes her eyes again, focusing and projecting pictures and feelings, not bothering with words because she knows they’re not needed. It’s still like yelling under water, _the Doctor can’t know,_ his face and her face and a chasm without a bridge, _the Doctor can’t know_.

She feels the Tardis’ displeasure, but just as the door behind her is flung open, there is a grudging, muted agreement there too, and a gentle edge of understanding. She breathes out a sigh of relief and fixes the look of shock back on her face as she breathes in, turning slowly to face Clara and the Doctor clustered in the open doorway.

“What is this?” she breathes out, widening her eyes and backing into the railing beside the door as she stares up at the height of the ceiling above her. There’s Gallifreyan written everywhere, across the walls and above the console, and the light is dim, blue and silver rather than bright and golden. It reminds her too much of Trenzalore, his body stretched out on the ground and desperate Clara bending over him.

“It’s a time machine, how many times have we gone over this?” snaps the Doctor, brushing past her to round the console, fiddling with switches and screens.

“But on the outside it’s, it’s,” she waves her arms around for a minute, ends with her hands clasped over her head, “ _small_. It’s like…this should be a _closet_!”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Clara says gently, reaching out to rub River’s upper arms comfortingly, “just take a few deep breaths, okay? Let’s count them,” she has her nanny voice on, and River hides a smile, turning in a slow circle, as if to take in the room, “One,” says Clara, loudly sucking in and releasing a breath, “Two-“

The door slams shut behind them, both her and Clara start and look around at it, but then there is a sudden lurch, throwing River against the railing. She reaches out to grab Clara’s arm, bracing them both as the Tardis shakes and an unhappy grinding noise filters up from the console.

 She gives a nice shriek for affect, and if it’s a little late everyone seems too busy to notice anyway.

“Doctor!” yells Clara, pushing herself up from where she’d been thrown against the railing, “What’s going on?”

He’s already hauled himself back to the console, bracing himself with one hand around a lever he should really be more careful of, and shaking the scanner with his other hand. River represses the urge to roll her eyes.

“I don’t know! She just decided to take off!”

“What!? We’re in flight?!” Clara pulls herself towards the console, holding onto the railings as the jostling continues.

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Well where are we going?” Clara stands next to him, gripping the rim of the console against the shaking and staring blankly at the scanner that’s flashing nonsense Galiffreyan too quickly for even River to read.

“I don’t know!”

“How can you not know?” River says, gripping either side of the railing in each hand, “Aren’t you flying this thing?”

“Well, actually no, not at the moment,” he swings around to the other side of the console, wrestling with a knob that refuses to budge.

“Then who _is_ flying?”

“Um, she appears to be….flying herself.”

“What?!” she infuses as much panic into her voice as she can, although really it’s a comforting thought. She’s a better pilot on her own anyway. 

“Yes, well, it happens, every now and then.”

“You’ve drugged me too, haven’t you? This is one of those trippy, druggy dreams, isn’t it?” she makes a show of stumbling back around and pulling on the door handle.

“Stop that,” the Doctor snaps, “if you manage to get that door open you’ll die in the time vortex!”

“Good! That’s how these dreams work, right? You have to die to wake up!”

“Mo, he isn’t drugging us and this is _not_ a dream!” Clara yells from the console.

And then the shaking stops, the lights dimming and the tone of the engine shifting to something soft and humming. The Doctor swings back around the console to the monitor, and she can see by the crease of his eyebrows that he’s confused.

“Doctor, where are we?” asks Clara, and he doesn’t answer for a moment, just sort of hums, spinning and tapping at the screen.

“We’re… in the outskirts of the Traxis system, about two thousand lightyears from Trivellia 5 in the year 586. Basically-“ he pushes his hair back from his forehead with one sloppy hand, “we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“Ok…” says Clara, straining to look at the scanner, covered in swirling Gallifreyan and rotating galactic star charts, “Why? Did something happen here?”

He shakes his head, giving up on the scanner and moving to the darkened navigation controls. He tugs on the zigzag plotter, nothing happens and he throws his hands up in frustration, “No! Never! There’s literally _nothing_ here! Ever! It’s just a great big nowhere nothingness of nothing!”

“Good,” says River, faintly, putting a frightened shiver in her voice, “that means we can just go straight home, right?” She leans back against the railing, holding it behind her in both hands, her thumb stroking the warm metal happily. They aren’t going back, not for awhile. The Tardis feels smug against her mind, and she can feel her intentions uncurling against River’s mind.

_Safe. Staying. A cradle made from silver wood and hung with stars._

“Yeah, yeah of course,” says the Doctor, distractedly, not looking up.

Clara walks back to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders comfortingly. “Don’t worry, Mo, the Doctor’s going to get us home,” her confidence both warms River’s heart and breaks it a little.

_“Save her, yes, but be_ sensible!”

“Clara, are we...” she rubs a hand over her face, “it’s impossible, right? I mean, we’re not actually, you know, _in space?”_

“It’s perfectly safe, Mo, really, trust me,” Clara smiles at her, and River can see suddenly the age in her eyes, the slight dip to her shoulders.

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks quietly. The arm around her shoulders loosens and Clara’s gaze flickers past her face.

“It’s hard to say,” Clara answers, distantly, “a long time.”

“Clara-“

“Do you want to see?” Clara asks brightly, cutting her off, and before she can respond she raises her voice to the Doctor, currently with his head buried under the console, “It’s alright to open the door now, yes?”

He waves his free hand at them but doesn’t answer and Clara rolls her eyes, looping her arm through River’s and pulling her the short distance to the door, “It’s brilliant Mo, you’ll love it,” she says, eyes sparkling, “I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, you know.” She pushes the door open with a flourish, a little too enthusiastically, and River winces internally as the door hits the outside wall with a dull clunk.

The Tardis hates it when people do that.

“Amazing isn’t it?”

It isn’t terribly impressive, really, as far as space views go. They truly are out in the middle of deep space, hanging on the edge of a spiral galaxy, looking out into the blackness of the gaps that span the distances between stars. In the distance there are a few softly glowing spots of distant galaxies, and off to the left the edge of one of them is marked by a scattering of stars.

But mostly it’s just black.

“Wow,” she says.

“Yep, sure is.” Clara leans against the doorway, folding her arms across her chest, and River moves to join her, clutching the door-jam with both hands and craning her neck to look down like she’s terrified.

“How are we breathing right now?”

“Oh, there’s an air bubble. Perfectly safe, see?” Clara leans out the doorway as far as she can and waves her arms around in space

River snorts at her, “You look daft.”

They stay for a while in the open doorway.  River asks all the expected questions about space and time travel and the Doctor himself, and tries to listen to Clara’s explanations. It’s difficult though, with the Doctor fiddling around just at the edge of her vision. She is entirely too aware of his every noise and movement. 

Clara is in the middle of attempting to explain the bigger-on-the-inside-ness of the Tardis (always difficult to do without transdimensional adjectives), when the Doctor pulls on the wrong wire. The Tardis shouts in her head and the Doctor squaks from under the console as he’s showered with sparks. She hears the dull clunk of his head making contact with the underside of the console. She groans and rubs her own head before she can remember not to, and Clara drops her explanation quickly, “I know it’s hard to understand,” she says comfortingly.

“Yeah,” lies River, “It’s giving me a bit of a headache actually. I don’t suppose you’ve got any tea on this thing? Not alien tea, mind you, the r _eal_ stuff.”

She follows Clara back to the kitchen, trying not to roll her eyes when the Tardis shifts it around a couple of times, just to make sure River remembers that she is _not_ happy about the situation.

“I swear,” says Clara, finally opening the right door and holding it open for River to pass through into the familiar room, “the Tardis just does not like me.”

The kitchen doesn’t change the way the console room does, and it’s wonderfully familiar. She sits down in Amy’s favorite chair, and watches Clara go up on her toes to pull a kettle out of one the upper cupboards.

_“Really Sweetie, a tea kettle? Isn’t that a little old fashioned”_

_The steam curls around his long fingers as he pours, and he doesn’t look at her when he says, “a friend brought it with her.”_

_“Which friend?” She raises the mug to her lips, watches his face through the lazy swirl of steam as he pours his own mug._

_“Donna,” he answers, and then he smiles, almost involuntarily, “she brought_ everything, _I think I’ll be finding her things laying about for at least a few hundred more years.” Under the table she catches one of his ankles between her own, and he smiles at her over the rim of his mug._

Without the Doctor and his distracting disinterest, and away from the cold blue console room rimmed in ghostly names, she finds that it’s easier to lean into Clara, drawing out their friendship across the table like it’s Amy sitting there in her nightgown.

_Giggling together late at night._

The stories start out light and exciting, with ghosts that aren’t ghosts (and yet, in a way everyone already is, and there’s the depth of those other lives again, before she blinks and slips past it, and it was kind of like Romeo and Juliet, only aliens), and fighting robot men in a castle. And then, almost unthinkingly she slips into a story about Christmas, and snowmen that came alive.

“….and then he handed me a key-“ she stops, her eyes dropping to the mug clutched between her suddenly white-knuckled hands. The memories play across her face, and suddenly she covers her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes squeezing shut as two tears break through and slip down her cheeks.

“Clara!” River says, reaching for her free hand, “what happened?”

“I fell, I fell and then I, I _died._ ”

“What? No you didn’t.”

“I did though, another me, one of the, the _echoes_.”

“You remember it?” She asks, softly.

Clara nods, resting her elbow on the table and her face in her hand.

“That’s terrible,” she cradles Clara’s hand, squeezing her fingers comfortingly. Clara looks up at her, wiping her face on her sleeve and attempting a watery smile,

“Sorry, sorry, I just…I’m not used to it yet, you know? Sometimes I can’t keep it all straight in my head.”

Behind her the door opens and the Doctor bursts in, “Ah! There you are, drinking tea! Lovely idea.”

Clara pulls away from her quickly, wiping the remnants of tears from her cheeks discreetly. It’s pointless, River can tell by the tenseness of his shoulders and the way his eyes slip away from Clara that he’d been listening.

He dances across the room, “Clara Clara Clara, what’s with this old thing, eh?” he says, dumping the water out of the kettle, “I’ve told you, this is much better,” he holds up a sleek, sophisticated appliance, “instant heating, very convenient, don’t have to _wait._ ” He pushes Donna’s kettle into the sink with a clatter.

“ _So why don’t you know me? Where am I in the future?”_

“Clara can use the damn kettle if she wants to,” River snaps at him. He starts a little, spinning around, taken aback by her vehemence. She stands up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, “have you got us home yet?”

“Er, well, no. Looks like that might take a little while,”

“Fine, whatever. Come on, Clara, you said there was a library.”

“Um,” says Clara, not moving from her seat, “Yeah there is, you want to go see it…. now?”

“Yes please,” River stands expectantly, hands braced on the back of her chair.

“Clara hasn’t finished her tea yet, and look at that, it’s cold.” The Doctor sits down next to Clara and plops a new, steaming mug down in front of her, “There you are,” he says brightly, “now then, were you having ‘girl talk’?” he makes finger quotes in the air, “because that’s rubbish. Just general chat, now, that’s much better.”

“Don’t drink that Clara,” River snaps, “they probably use some kind of crazy radiation to heat it up that fast, it’s going to give you cancer.”

The Doctor splutters and launches into a defensive explanation of how, in fact, the appliance really works as she grabs Clara’s arm and pulls her out the door. Just before the door closes she catches a glimpse of him gazing after them, sitting alone at the table amidst their three mugs.

_You shouldn’t be alone Doctor._

She regrets it for just a moment, but pushes it aside easily enough.

Because there was Amy, facing them both with her last words just for him; _Raggedy Man, goodbye._

She’s only borrowing Clara, after all. At least he’ll get her back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter, I think you'll see why ;) Thank you for all the reviews!

The Tardis refuses to move for the rest of the day, and then another, and another, and suddenly a week has passed. It’s terribly amusing, watching it all from afar, the Doctor all flustered and frustrated, the Gallifreyan cursing drifting up from the console room and under the console itself late at night. He’s never responded well to being cooped up, and even in his own internally massive ship she can see the walls taking their toll on him. The Tardis grumbles against her mind about his attitude, his lack of trust in her, his bad language and pouty temper, and a small part of her enjoys it. Even a big, comfy cage is still a cage, and selfishly she wants him to realize that, even now that it’s too late.

Being stranded works out better than she’d hoped. She spends the waking hours with Clara, talking and going swimming and exploring the library, or sitting in the open doorway enjoying the view until the Doctor’s temper drives them back into the depths of the Tardis. He is thoroughly distracted, and easily avoidable, even late into the night.

On the first night, after faking a few yawns and saying goodnight to Clara, she’d spent some time digging through old storage closets. The most useful of her finds was a bigger-on-the-inside duffel bag the Doctor had proudly presented to her a year into her time at university. It’s old, ancient really, with patches here and there, and her name, written is swirling gold Gallifreyan across the top flap, is faded and barely legible.

On the second night she changes into a set of flannel pajamas and hides her duffel in a conveniently generic backpack before pulling one strap over her shoulder. She finds the library, and spends the rest of the night hours pouring over every Gallifreyan medical text she can find, tucking the useful ones away in the backpack.

On the third night she takes the books with her down to the seldom-used medical center. She digs through long-disused drawers and cabinets for bottles and tubes of medicine, comparing the labels with what she finds in the books. She documents and labels and takes notes, and hides the whole lot away in her bag. She stumbles across a stash of what is essentially generic Time Lord painkillers, and, inspired, finds the Gallifreyan equivalent of disinfectants and – of all things -- children’s vitamins as well.

On the fourth night she goes back to the library to continue her research. Halfway through the night and tucked away in a corner, she finds the children’s section. It is perhaps one of the saddest places she’s yet seen in the Tardis; quiet and dark and empty. She spends almost an entire evening pouring through the books with their simplified Gallifreyan and bright, vivid pictures that shimmer across the pages. It’s terribly difficult to pick which to take with her, and in the end she takes far more than she probably should, leaving empty spaces gaping blatantly on the shelves. She’s pretty sure this is one of the places he doesn’t come to though.

She’s in the library again on the fifth night, sitting on the floor between towering shelves, her head buried in a complicated Gallifreyan anatomy book, when she hears the distant door slide open and the familiar cadence of the Doctor’s footsteps. She crawls to the edge of the balcony, peering down at him and cursing him silently as he heads directly for the stairs that will take him up to where she’s hiding. Suddenly the gaps in the shelves where she’s taken books seem as wide as canyons. Quickly and silently she picks the book she’d been reading up off the floor, slipping it carefully back into place. She can hear his feet on the stairs and the hum of his voice as he mutters to himself. There’s an ancient Earth languages section tucked away in a corner, and she grabs her backpack off the floor, padding quickly towards the corner. She hears him pause at the top of the stairs, a shuffle of feet as he heads in one direction and then corrects himself, swinging around the opposite way with a muttered, “no no no, it’s this way!”

She darts behind the narrow end of a bookshelf, pressing her back flat against it as he walks by at the other end. They’re still in the Gallifreyan section, and the backpack slung over her shoulder is much too suspicious. In the aisle behind her she hears him stop, listens as he uncaps one of the bottled Galifreyan books. An old, nasally Gallifreyan voice floats into the air, something about dealing with Tardis personality malfunctions. In the cover offered by the noise, she takes a deep breath and slips out of her hiding place, counting in her head the milliseconds that’s she’s visible from his vantage point as she darts down a few rows and slips back into another aisle, weaving as silently as possible through the Gallifreyan section.

She’s never been so relieved to see ancient Greek. In passing she snags from the shelf the most boring title she sees, something about property inheritance and purchase laws.

There’s a cozy open space at the back, with a mismatched collection of overstuffed chairs accompanied by squat footstools and an intricately carved desk pushed against the back wall. Ducking behind the desk she pulls the chair out to tuck her backpack underneath. As she hurriedly pushes the chair back into position, one of the legs hits the bottom of the desk with a muffled thump. She stills, listening, as the muffled thrum of the Gallifreyan book cuts of abruptly. Cursing under her breath, River throws herself into the nearest chair, crossing her ankles on the footstool and trying to steady her breathing. She flips the book open just in time, as out of the corner of her eye she sees the Doctor come around a bookshelf. She pretends not to notice him, humming softly out of tune and squinting at the page in front of her. She hopes he’ll just walk away, disinterested, but it’s strangely relieving when he doesn’t. Instead he strolls casually into the circle of furniture and flips a lamp on.

“You’re up late,” he says, flopping into the chair across from her, all gangly limbs and floppy hair.

She sighs deeply and turns the page of her book, lifting it up slightly between them. “Yeah, so? Clara didn’t say anything about a _curfew_.”

She hears the rustle of his clothes as he shrugs his shoulders, “You just seemed like the, ah, early to bed type.”

“I am. Then I woke up, and came here to read. _Alone._ ”

“Right, right,” he says, but doesn’t move from his chair. She holds the book a little closer to her face and the silence stretches out between them. He handles the silence as well as ever; twitching and fidgeting, his fingers tapping out a pattern on the arms of his chair, his long legs crossing and uncrossing at irregular intervals. When he begins to quite literally _bounce_ in his chair, the legs creaking ominously, she gives up on even the pretense of ignoring him.

“Do you want something?’ she snaps, setting the book down on her lap.

“Oh! No, no not at all. I was just examining this chair, what it’s made out of. You know when they first started putting padding on chairs they used hog’s hair. Well, on earth anyway. On Maltros, that’s in the Lynth system, they used the hair from defeated opponents. Sporting opponents, that is. Bowling, specifically. Well, not Earth bowling, generally the same idea though.”

She rolls her eyes and picks her book back up, determined to ignore him into going away. She underestimated his boredom though, because a moment later her footrest dips to one side, her crossed ankles sinking against a familiar thigh as the tip of a long finger curls into view over the top of her book. The Doctor tilts it forward to peer at the title, reading it aloud with derision in his tone. She barely hears him. There’s a rushing in her ears, and tingles flying up from her ankles.

_One fingertip drifting across her cheekbone, tracing down across her lips as her eyes flutter closed._

“Nobody’s asking you to read it!” she snaps at him, jerking the book out of his grip and dropping it back in her lap as she sets her feet on the floor and leans forward angrily, “What do you want anyway?”

She realizes her mistake a moment too late. He’d been leaning forward to see her book, and he hadn’t bothered to move back, and suddenly she’s closer to him then she’s been since

_“I thought it would hurt me too much, and I was right.”_

She can see the flecks in his eyes and the depth of the creases on his forehead. Her fingers twitch and she squeezes them around the pages of the book in her lap, refusing to let her gaze drop any further down the familiar landscape of his face. He’s looking at her too, eyes tracking across her face, and, it’s silly, but she feels like looking in the mirror to make sure her face isn’t slipping back into the nose with the arch in the middle and green eyes.

“Why are you angry at me, Mo?” he asks her, his voice surprisingly soft.

_“I can always see you.”_

_The Doctor lies._

She’s holding her breath, and for a moment she imagines what it would be like to smile at him, cross the short distance between them with a hand on his cheek and assure him that it’s not his fault, she’s not mad at him and he’s brilliant, doesn’t he know that? River would have done that, and then he would smile, and pretend to believe her, and they’d go on an adventure and in the midst of all the running she’d be able to forget.

_“Of course it matters, River, they were your parents.”_

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” she answers just as softly, but her words shake with anger, “Clara is my best friend,” she continues, moving seamlessly into the lie as the tremor fades and her voice rises, “she has been for years, and I have _never_ seen her like this. Because of _you._ ” She shoves one finger in his chest, he hardly moves, his face closing like the automated curtains in the window of her hospital room.

“It was her choice,” he tells her, his voice still low, but hard, “I never asked her to do what she did, I didn’t w _ant_ this to happen!”

_“Do you think I wanted this?”_

“Is that what you tell yourself? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you thought Clara would be safe with you? You knew it was dangerous to take her with you! _You’re_ dangerous!”

_“And all this, my love, in fear of you.”_

She bites the words out into his face, leaning further into his space to see the anger and guilt flashing in his (such a very old man) eyes. She’s so close to him now, she can feel his breath brush against her cheeks. If she leaned forward just a bit more their noses would brush, or she could turn her head, and then their noses wouldn’t brush, they would slide past each other. The air crackles between him, and then his eyes

drop.

It’s only for a moment, but her lips tingle under his gaze and her heartbeats pound in her ears. He looks back up into her eyes, and opens his mouth to say something. She watches him reach for words, lips moving soundlessly, but his eyes drop again, and he seems to lose them, leaving him right there with his forgotten mouth open and far too close to her own.

His breath flutters across her lips, warm and familiar.

She wills her own eyes up, watches the creases in his forehead deepen, she can count them.

The book falls from her lap, landing open with twisted pages across her slippers as she stands. He jumps, his eyes following her and she can’t look at him, but she can see his confusion in the way he runs his fingers over his face and back through his silly hair. She’s confused too. This shouldn’t happen. Can’t happen. Mo is the tin dog, the Rory Williams, Rose Tyler’s third wheel.

“You shouldn’t have to ask,” she says again, but her voice is breathless and throaty. The top of his head is right there, eye level with her elbows, her belly button. Her fingers twitch and it isn’t getting any easier to breathe.

He looks up at her, slowly, and there’s something familiar in his eyes that starts to spread, warm and swooping through her veins, all the way to her toes that just start to curl there under the pages of the fallen book- and then the wrong-ness of it all catches and burns like ice, because for all the familiarity that she feels with that look in his eyes, there isn’t even a hint of recognition there.

_“Who are you_ to me _?”_

She tucks her arms around herself, suddenly chilled. Under her arms crossed over the perception filter, she feels the two tiny heartbeats picking up speed, and the fear stirring, foggy and vague.

_Not yet, no no no, not yet._

“I think,” she says, fighting to keep her own sudden panic out of her voice, “that I’ll go read in my room now, since apparently the library isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

She turns on her heel, trying to take deep even breaths and long, even strides. Back through the rows of Greek, Macedonian and ancient Chinese, until the script around her is swirling circles again, down the stairs, her eyes catching on the distant, darkened corner with the little chairs and bright pictures caught between the pages and the gaps in the shelves. She slips out of the door, into the grey hallway and leans up against the wall. Out of sight she presses one hand against her stomach, counting the muffled heartbeats as they pick up speed.

_Don’trundon’trundon’trun, you should never run when you’re scared._

She takes deep breathes and thinks about the children’s books hidden away in her duffel; about the bright, swirling pictures and a silly story about a very old man learning to dance.

The heartbeats slow, she can feel sleep stealing back over the baby’s little mind as the effects of the sedative overpower his calming panic.

“Are you sick?”

Her eyes fly open. At some point she’d slid down to her heels, arms wrapped around her stomach and back against the wall. She’s still in the hallway, a few steps away from the doorway where he stands, looking puzzled and concerned.

Suddenly she wishes she’d done a bit more running after all.

“A little bit queasy, yeah.” She tells him faintly.

“That’s strange,” he says, and suddenly he’s squatting down next to her, peering into her eyes clinically. He’s wary though, she can tell by the distance he leaves between them. “We’re not deep enough into the Tardis for that.”

“Maybe I caught a bug.”

He snorts, “from who?”

“I don’t know, Clara maybe.”

“Clara’s not sick.”

“Well maybe I’m allergic to some weird alien thing.”

“Like what?”

She glares at him pointedly.

“Oi! You can’t be allergic to _me!_ ”

“How do you know?

“I’m very old, I know a lot of things. Most things, actually,” he straightens his bow tie and she fights back a smile in spite of herself.

“I’m feeling better now anyway,” she says, standing up, ”I’ll see you later. Or maybe I won’t, wouldn’t mind that, really,” she waggles her fingers over her shoulder at him dismissively.

When she’s gone a few steps, feeling both relieved and disappointed to be finally making her escape, his voice stops her.

“Mo, I’m very sorry, you know, about what happened to Clara.” And he really is, she knows. She can hear it in his voice, in the awkward rustling of his clothes as he fidgets behind her.

“So am I,” she tells him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit short! As always, thank you for reading, and for your wonderful comments :)

The next day he joins them for breakfast in the kitchen. Clara is as surprised as River is to see him, wandering in with his hair all askew and exclaiming over the pile of waffles she and Clara are slowly working their way through.

“Wait!” Clara says, holding up her hand to stop him as he reaches for the waffles with a pair of metal chopsticks, of all things.

He freezes, chopsticks gaping open in his hand.

“If you’re going to ruin our breakfast whining about the Tardis, you’re going to have to take your waffles elsewhere.”

River hides a smile behind the rim of her tea mug

“I have not been whining!”

“Ha!” River scoffs, loudly, not looking up as she takes a drink of her tea.

“That’s right,” agrees Clara, “You’ve been unbearable, all week.”

He stares between them, looking put-out, “Well, so sorry, but in case you hadn’t noticed we are currently _stranded,_ in deep space, in a space ship that refuses to move!”

“And you’ve been whining like a two year old about that for six days straight.”

He pouts, says, “fine,” and spears one of the waffles with both of his chopsticks, collapsing grumpily into the seat next to Clara.

He takes a large bite, his face switching from noble martyr to elation in an instant, “There’s chocolate in this waffle!”

“It’s a chocolate chip waffle,” Clara tells him, chuckling.

He takes another bite, “Where did it come from?”

“Mo made it,” Clara says pointedly, “Nice of her to make us breakfast, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t think I was making _him_ breakfast,” she grumbles, “If I knew he was coming I’d have put more effort into burning a few.”

The Doctor spears two more waffles, one on each chopstick and alternates between the two, humming happily.

“How can something so delicious come from such a bitter person?” he asks, philosophically, around a mouthful of waffle.

 

The next morning she makes apple cinnamon waffles. Clara loves them, which is nice. The Doctor violently spits them out and runs to the sink to rinse his mouth, which is even better.

He slumps out of the kitchen in a huff, Clara trailing after him with a waffle in her hand telling him he’s being a child and “really Doctor, you can’t blame Mo, who doesn’t like _apples?_ ”

A short time later, as she’s still snickering to herself and mucking up partially-chewed apple waffles from the table-top, she feels the unmistakable tremor of the Tardis in flight.

She freezes, startled and suddenly worried. It hasn’t been enough time. She isn’t done yet, hasn’t even managed to retrieve her hidden duffel from behind the desk in the library. If the Tardis lets him fly them back to Clara’s house now, she’ll have to leave very nearly empty handed.

She takes a moment to calm her breathing and pull herself back into character. Mo would be happy. Mo would w _ant_ to be leaving.

By the time she finds them in the console room, she can feel that they’ve landed, and she’s fixed a bright, hopeful expression on her face.

“Are we home?” she asks eagerly, walking into the console room, “We moved, didn’t we? It felt like we moved. Sort of.”

“Yes! We did move!” answers the Doctor, happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “she’s decided to fly again!”

Her heart sinks, “Great! I’ll just have to grad my things real quick.” She _has_ to get that duffel. It’s better than nothing, hopefully she’s gathered enough for Doctor Reed to cobble together some kind of treatment.

“Well,” says Clara, “actually…” she’s looking at the Doctor pointedly, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the console.

“You might not want to get off here.” The Doctor tells her, clasping and un-clasping his hands in front of him as he evades eye contact.

“Why?” she asks him slowly, suddenly hopeful.

“Well, she doesn’t seem to want to let us land in Clara’s backyard. Or in the year 2013. Or anywhere particularly close to either Clara’s backyard or the year 2013.”

“What??” She’s so relieved she wants to kiss the nearest bit of the Tardis she can reach. Which would be the wall.

“We are _definitely_ closer though!” he says quickly, “Much closer than we were before!”

“How close?”

“Oh….just a galaxy and few hundred years away. Not much, really, in the grand scheme of things. Practically right next door!”

“And that’s as close as you can get us to home?”

“At the moment….yes.”

She very nearly does kiss the wall then. She should have known the Tardis would take care of them.

“Well,” she manages, working to keep a laugh of relief out of her voice, “That’s unfortunate.”

Clara is looking at her funny, her eyes a little narrowed, but she shakes her head and turns back to the Doctor, “So other than not being in my backyard, where are we exactly?”

“A lovely little planet called Asgard!”

River bites her lip, hard; suddenly kissing the wall isn’t nearly so appealing.

_Really?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they spend an evening on Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos! It's wonderful to know that so many people are enjoying my story, thanks for your patience with the slow updates!

 “As in, the Norse mythology heaven Asgard? With the rainbow bridge?” Clara asks, looking curiously toward the doors.

“I’d hardly call it heaven,” the Doctor answers, “Nice place though, now that the ice age has ended. Well, the first ice age, anyway, and the next one’s not do for another 1200 years, so we should be alright.” He bounces to the doors, swinging them open and grinning back at them, “But, come along and see for yourselves if you’d like.”

Clara starts after him immediately. River hangs back. The Doctor notices and taps Clara on the shoulder, nodding his head toward where she’s standing, unmoving behind the console.

“Mo? You coming?” Clara asks.

She doesn’t want to. Not Asgard. She’d loved Asgard, _they’d_ loved Asgard, together, from the very first time to the very last. He’d even made her smile there when he didn’t know her, and that was saying something. She doesn’t want that ruined now.

“Is it, you know, dangerous?” she asks, “Because I’m really alright with staying right here.”

“What?!” gasps the Doctor, “It’s an alien planet! Don’t you want to see it?”

“So far, I haven’t been terribly impressed with anything alien I’ve seen on this trip.”

“Oi!”

Clara rolls her eyes at them, “Seriously you two!” Clara walks back to River, puts her hands on her shoulders and looks her in the eyes, “Mo, what’s really going on?” she asks, softly. And it’s surprising, because up until this point Clara had never noticed anything amiss. Ever. Ever when her creepy date wound up in a car accident with a public library. She’s gotten wiser though, older, really, with all those echo-lives caught up in her pretty head. “I know you don’t really want to go home, do you?” she continues, gently, her voice dropping lower so the Doctor can’t hear.

“What makes you say that?”

Clara raises an eyebrow at her.

“Ok, fine, I’m not really all that upset that we can’t get home right now,” she turns, throwing an affectionate arm around Clara’s neck, “It’s nice, having so much time to spend with you, sweethe—Clara.”

Clara giggles and pokes her in the side, “Did you just call me ‘sweetheart’?”

“What? No! Absolutely not.”

“If you two are just about done with the _cuddling_ time over there!” The Doctor is still standing in the doorway, looking cross and left-out.

She’s out of excuses. And anyway, Clara had looped her own arm back around River’s shoulders and is already practically frog-marching her toward the door. Throwing her off would require a rather advanced martial arts move and she has a feeling she would have a hard time explaining that.

As they exit, the door slams closed with pointed finality behind Clara, which is a good thing, because as soon as she gets a good look at where they are, she wishes she’d thrown Clara off and made a run for it after all. They’re not just on any old spot on Asgard, oh no, that would be much too simple. They’re on a gently sloping hill, under a lovely branching tree with blue-green leaves, and right at her feet the grass is all pressed down in the shape of a crumpled picnic blanket. A cool breeze filters through the leaves, spinning a crumpled paper napkin across the grass, and she shivers.

She remembers they’d left just as it started getting cold. It couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes ago.

“It’s cold, Doctor. Are you sure you’ve got the dates right on that ice age?” Clara asks.

He answers her, very softly, and River doesn’t dare look at him but she has this funny feeling he’s looking right at the spot where her former rear-end had made a pleasantly shaped indent in the grass right at his feet, “It gets cold at night, on Asgard,” he says.

“How cold?” Clara asks him, sounding just a little worried.

“Very, very cold.”

River clears her throat and tears her eyes away from the blanket-spot in the grass, making a show of examining the leaves, slowly curling in on themselves as the temperature drops, “So, we should probably leave then, yeah?”

“Yes,” agrees the Doctor, “we should go.”

But they can’t.

The Doctor snaps his fingers until they turn red, and twists his key around and around in the lock, but the doors stay firmly closed. River stands around the corner and presses her hand against the wall, trying to convince the Tardis to let them in, but in return she gets only a stubborn determination, numerous impressions of hiding from the Doctor and feelings of distinct disapproval, and the Tardis encouraging her to go find some shelter before the temperature drops too much.

She gives up, and around the corner she hears the Doctor mutter helplessly against the doors, “Why are you being like this?”

Clara is sitting at the foot of the tree, her knees tucked up under her chin, shivering. Humans have a lower tolerance for cold than Time Lords, and they’re already running out of time. River sits on her heels to wrap an arm around Clara, who leans into her with a little sigh, her breath freezing in the air.

“Doctor! Maybe we should find somewhere warm for now, we can come back in the morning and try again.”

She pretends to shiver alongside Clara, and she sees a flash of guilt across his face. “Right, right, of course. Humans, you lot get cold so easily. I always forget.” He hurries over to them, reaching deep into his left hand pocket and rummaging around. He pulls out a red and orange poncho, of all things, and drops it over Clara’s head. Before she can say anything, he’s shrugged out of his jacket and is wrapping it around River’s shoulders.

It’s still warm from his body heat. His warmth and his smell settle around her, and his face is right there too, frowning and staring down as he pulls the lapels close around her neck.

_She is burying her head in his jacket, she is wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him right there, close. She is crying, she is slapping his stupid, difficult face._

River sits still and glares at his bowtie. She bites her lip so hard she can taste blood in her mouth. By the time he pulls away her faked shivering has become a real tremor.

_He makes everything so difficult._

“Come along, come along,” he says, his hand suddenly under her arm as he pulls her to her feet and reaches for Clara, “There’s a hotel not far from here.”

The temperature drops quickly. After ten minutes of brisk walking, the sun has completely disappeared behind a range of distant mountains, the sky dark enough for the stars to make themselves known. The leaves on the trees they pass have almost finished curling in on themselves, and Clara is shivering so hard River can hear her teeth chattering. She’s feeling the cold too, her shivering isn’t feigned anymore, and she’s mentally trying to recall anything she’s read about low temperatures and Time Lord pregnancies.

Clara’s walk gets slower and slower. River hangs back, and for a little while the Doctor is out in front of them, screwdriver extended as he keeps track of the temperature and how far they still have to go. Finally he looks back, noticing how far behind they’ve fallen. He jogs back to join them, looking them over quickly and shaking his head, “This won’t do. Listen now, alright, you’re both going to have to run.”

Clara shakes her head, her teeth chattering too hard to speak.

“You can do it, I know you can do it,” he says. He steps in between them, and slides his ice-cold fingers through hers. Her breath catches, and as she peers around him she can see he’s grabbed Clara’s hand too, but it’s different. Their fingers aren’t knit.

_Save it for later, the concern, the wrong-ness. The sparks feel pleasant in the cold spaces between her fingers though._

“Run!” he says, and he’s pulling them along.

_Daleks and monsters she forgets in the shadows are coming. Shadows full of monsters give chase and angry royalty who want their fish back so it’s time to_ run _River!_

River knows she should lag behind. She should measure her steps to Clara’s stumbling gate on his other side and drag at his hand. She doesn’t though. She feels suddenly a reckless sort of lightness brought on by their fingers knit together and their feet crunching against the rapidly freezing ground, danger lingering in the air as the temperature drops. Her footstep keep step with his instead, their bone-soul habits finding his. Matching his.

_You run when you’re not scared, or do you out-run the scared?_

They finally reach a road, paved in smooth blue pebbles of all things, and the Doctor veers to follow it. A moment later the hotel comes into view. It isn’t the one they had been to, so very long ago, that hadn’t been built yet, but the architecture is similar, with the characteristic oblong doorways and windows and molded frames. There’s a faint shimmer around the building, and as they pass through it into the warm air trapped inside the nearly invisible shell Clara makes a relieved groaning sort of noise from the Doctor’s other side. As soon as he stops running she promptly sits on the ground, curled around herself and still shivering.

“Clara!” The Doctor drops her hand, kneeling down as he holds the tops of Clara’s arms. He looks up at her, and she remembers almost too late that she needs to look a bit colder than she really is, wrapping her arms around herself and making her teeth chatter as he asks, “Are you alright?”

River nods, trying to look shaky rather than exhilarated, “I think so, better than Clara anyway.”

“Right, good, that’s good,” he picks Clara up, and the blue tinge to her lips when he turns around sucks the excitement out of her system quickly. “The door, please!” he says, urgently.

Before they get to it, the door swings out on it’s hinges, the large shape of a native shadowed in the doorway.

“Don’t worry Mo! The Doctor says from behind her, “Asgadians are usually a very friendly bunch.”

She shakes her head and lets him go ahead anyway, pretending to be frightened by the large, furry alien motioning urgently for them to get inside.

By the time she follows him inside, the Doctor and two of the Asgardians are kneeling over Clara, looking incredibly small on an Asgardian-sized settee in the lobby.

“Humans!” One of the Asgaridans is saying, “What were you thinking? You shouldn’t be so overconfident about that bit of fur you’ve got on your head.”

“It was an accident,” the Doctor quips back, “and I am _not_ human. No blue on my lips, see?” he asks, pouting them at the offending Asgardian as River approaches.

“Is she alright?” River asks, worriedly, glancing fearfully up at the towering Asgardians for effect. She can imagine they would be a bit terrifying to your average 21st century human, although they’re still as lovely as she remembers; tall and lanky and humanoid, completely covered in long, silky white-blond fur with startlingly vivid blue eyes rimmed in long, thick, dark blonde lashes. It’s two males with them now, both dressed in the hotel staff uniform.

“Hello,” says the slightly shorter one, he glances at her mouth, “Are you a not-human too?”

“No,” says the Doctor, distractedly from where he’s scanning Clara with his sonic, “she’s human too.”

The Asgardian blinks his striking eyes at her, “but her lips aren’t blue.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about that cliffhanger last time...
> 
> Sorrynotsorry :D
> 
> You guys are amazing though, THANK YOU for the wonderful reviews and the kudos and all that. And your patience, that's pretty amazing too!
> 
> Enjoy! I like this chapter, I hope you will too.

The Doctor glances back at them, frowns a little, then shakes his head, “never mind that, grab her a blanket and some of these too,” he says, waving what she recognizes as an Asgardian heating pad at them. The Asgardian walks off, muttering under his breath about bossy little hairless not-humans and blue lips.

“Here Mo,” he says, “sit under the blanket with Clara.”

She does, and the other Asgardian, apparently older by the lightness of the fur around his eyes, presses a warm mug made for much larger hands into hers. It tastes as lovely as she remembers.

It had tasted even better in the Doctor’s mouth, but she’s _not_ thinking about that right now.

Fifteen minutes later, Clara is covered in a pile of blankets and heating pads and River is trying not to brush off the slightly smaller pile they’ve loaded her down with as she grows uncomfortably warm. Clara had woken up briefly, just long enough to make sure she would be alright and get a few sips of the warm Asgardian beverage down her throat before she drifted off again. The Doctor’s spirits had lifted considerably after that, the tension drained out of his shoulders. There’s a relieved little spring to his step as he bounces over to the reception desk where the hospitable Asgardian staff had retreated earlier to reserve them proper rooms. River takes the opportunity to shove a couple of the blankets away, breathing a sigh of relief. Next to her, Clara looks much better, warm color slowly flooding back into her cheeks and lips. River runs her fingers through Clara’s hair affectionately, smiling.

“Two rooms!” The Doctor announces, the younger Asgardian trailing behind him, “nice rooms too, I think you’ll be quite pleased,” he hooks his thumbs in his suspenders and looks at her proudly.

“I’d better be, considering the way the day’s gone so far.” She doesn’t quite manage to put the usual amount of annoyance in her tone though, and he seems to notice, because his smug little grin hardly fades.

The young Asgardian scoops Clara up easily, cradling her in one arm and wrapping the draping blankets around her with the other. Apparently she finds him comfortable, because she sighs happily and buries her face in the fur at his neck. River hears her mutter the name of her childhood dog and fights back a smile as the Asgardian strains his neck to look at her in confusion.

The hotel is very much like the one they had stayed in, despite the 100 years or so between the one they are currently in and the building of the other on the hillside where they had their picnic. She can see little stylistic changes here and there, but the most notable parts are the same. The lift is comparable to the size of a hotel lift on earth, but the ceiling is almost startlingly high and rises to a smoothly rounded arch, much like the hallways and the rooms themselves. The whole place is lit through the walls and ceilings, lovely swirling patterns set into them that glow in a way that reminds River of Christmas lights. And he’s with her. Not the way he was last time, of course, his arm around her waist, or his hand resting against the small of her back, his face glowing like the walls when he looks at her. But at least he’s there, walking next to her, less distance between them then the length of her arm.

The Doctor takes his door code from the Asgardian, but insists he doesn’t need to be shown the way, hovering around as their guide settles Clara down on the bed and thoughtfully pulls a step stool out of a closet. River takes advantage of it as the door closes behind him, climbing up next to Clara and making sure the blankets are tucked up around her chin. Behind her the Doctor stretches up to rest his folded arms on the edge of the bed and his chin on his arms, watching them.

“She’ll be alright,” he says.

River nods, pulling her knees to her chest and sitting against the pillows.

“Have you always had such a high tolerance for cold?” he asks, and she flinches internally, wishing he’d forgotten about it as she’d hoped he would.

Kicking herself for being distracted and not thinking up a better cover story earlier she quickly thinks of something to tell him. “When I was a little girl, my parents moved us to Siberia for a few years.”

“Siberia….” He echoes, and she can hear the disbelief in his voice.

“Yeah, Siberia. My mom was in journalism, it was for an assignment. I don’t remember it much.”

“How old were you?” he asks, and she can hear the edge of suspicion in his voice. She shrugs, casually,

“I don’t know, 3 or 4? Does it matter?”

“Clara said you live in New York.”

“That’s right,” she tells him, a little defensively, “for school. I live with my American uncle.”

“How did your uncle come to be American?”

“He’s my second uncle, and was born there,” she snaps, “what’s with the sudden interest in my life story?”

“Why are you so defensive?” he narrows his eyes, studying her closely.

“Because I don’t like you, and I don’t like the way you’re asking!” She glares at him, he huffs at her and turns around, studying the room with his back to her. Her hearts are beating fast with confrontation and worry, and there’s the faintest stirring again from the baby rising in the back of her mind. She turns her head away from him and squeezes her eyes closed, drawing up images of Rory in his Raggedy Doctor costume until a smile curls her lips.

“Hey,” says the Doctor, and she turns back to see he’d moved over to a window, and he’s looking at her with a grin, their argument moments before apparently forgotten, “do you want to see something amazing?”

“Depends what you mean by ‘amazing’”, she tells him, making finger quotes in the air.

“Oh come on Miss Grumpy Pants, even _you_ won’t be able to not like this, I promise!” his eyes are practically sparkling, which doesn’t actually mean much since she’s seen him respond in a similar way to ridiculous hats and carnivorous plants.

“Please?” he says, dropping his head and looking up at her through the flop of hair that falls across his forehead. She’s never been able to say no to that face.

With a sigh she swings over the side of the bed and slides carefully to the floor. He bounces over, grabs her by the elbow and starts for the balcony doors. They stop before going through, the Doctor swinging in front of her to stand between her and the door. “Close your eyes.”

“No.”

“You _have_ to!” he whines, moments away from stomping his foot.

“Why?”

He sighs, clearly exasperated and runs a hand through his hair, “Just this once Mo, trust me just _this_ much?” he holds up his fingers with a tiny sliver of space between them, squinting at her from between them with one eye.

“For how long?” she asks him, relenting.

“Ten seconds! You can count them.”

She sighs, nods, and closes her eyes, loudly declaring, “One!”

His hand slips under her elbow again, but he crowds closer than before, directing her through the doorway. When she breathes in she can smell him, and his body warms the air at her side. She fights the urge to lean into him, quickly saying, “Two!” He shushes her, tells her to count quietly, please, she’s ruining the moment.

She’s only gotten to five when he tells her she can open her eyes.

The gasp that fizzles out of her throat sounds less like amazement and more like heartbreak and memories. He doesn’t seem to notice though, and she hears smugness in his voice as he launches into an explanation of Asgard’s atmosphere.

“So,” he says, taking a step that brings him shoulder-to-shoulder with her, “ _this_ is what you get,” he makes a grand sweeping motion with his arm, encompassing the sky beyond the glint of the energy field holding back the cold, lit up with dancing colors.

“It… looks like the northern lights,” she manages, hearing a suspicious catch to her voice.

“Hhhmmm, well yeah, same basic idea. Only, you know, nightly. And everywhere, not just in the north.”

“Oh,” she says, trying not to think about how those lights had looked flickering across the bare slope of his shoulder, framing the silhouette of his face.

“Um,” he shifts uncomfortably beside her, his hand scratching his cheek, and she realizes with a start that she’s crying.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, quickly, “it’s nothing, just remembering, you know, Siberia.”

“Siberia, right. It’s such an emotional place.”

“Knock it off would you? It was a very special time for me. With my family, I mean, and we saw the Northern lights. I was just….remembering,” she swipes at her cheek with her sleeve, frustrated with herself. Clearly she’s out of practice with the whole acting in emotional situations bit. And she’s pregnant. She’s yet to find anything that mentions Time Lord pregnancies and the tendency to become overly emotional, but maybe that’s just a given. Or maybe it’s whatever bit of human there is left in her making itself known. Or maybe it’s just _him,_ bothersome man that he is, always causing problems. Always.

She tells herself later that it’s her annoyance with him that causes her to ask The Question, a passive-aggressive strike against him in response to his inadvertent stirring up of memories. Conveniently, it also distracts him completely from Mo and her Siberian experiences.

“Have you been here before?”

He stiffens beside her. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, but she can’t quite manage to read his face. He takes a few steps forward, his fingers wrapping around the elaborate (if awkwardly high) balcony railing.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, “I’ve been here a few times.”

_His arms wrapping around her waist from behind, his chin nestling into her shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”_

_“Just watching. It’s beautiful.”_

_“You can see it fine from the bed. Have you seen the size of our windows? It’s practically a fish bowl in there.”_

_“Really Sweetie? A fish bowl?” she tugs teasingly at the tie around her waist, “Maybe I should keep my robe on in the future.”_

_“That’s a terrible idea,” he tells her, one hand drifting pointedly under her robe to settle around her ribcage, his thumb stroking gently._

_She laughs softly, leaning back against him as he murmurs, “come back to bed” against her neck._

_“In a moment, just stay here and watch with me for a moment, would you?”_

_“Fine,” he pouts at her, his chin settling back on her shoulder. “You can see this every night anyway, you know. It’s not like earth.”_

_She sighs, “That’s not really the point.”_

_“Oh alright, but only five minutes.”_

_“Such a child.”_

_“Oi! Rude! That is_ not _something you ought to be saying to your_ husband _on your_ first ever _linear wedding anniversary_!”

“You must really like it then, to keep coming back,” she fights to keep the strain out of voice, watching the tense line of his shoulders and the grip of his fingers.

“I did yeah,” he says, “I think it’s getting a bit old though, probably won’t come back.”

“But, It’s very beautiful,” she argues, weakly.

“There are a lot of beautiful things in the universe, Mo. No point in going back to the same one over and over again,” he turns around briskly, “Well I’m off then. Night-time here is ten hours, so sleep as much as you’d like. Or don’t, whatever you’d like. Breakfast tomorrow, they deliver if you ask them to, then we’ll figure out how to get the Tardis open and take off, yeah?”

She’s barely started nodding and he’s striding past her, “Right then, good night, shout if you need anything,” and he’s gone.

The silence in his wake is deafening.

She finds herself re-tracing his steps, standing where he’d been, wrapping her own fingers around the balcony railing. The rainbow lights flicker, suddenly somehow melancholy, chasing strains of color across her fingers.

_No point in going back to the same one over and over again._

But he had. He’s brought her here that time, when they’d realized that for once, they were linear, celebrating the same anniversary. They’d dragged it out, spent a whole week celebrating that anniversary. She hadn’t realized then that it was a repeat for him. Hadn’t realized until that terrible and lovely day when he’s showed up at her picnic with his young face and confusion and traced his eyes along the curve of her leg with a new-found fascination. She knew now, that it had only been the second time he’d met her. And she’d died that first time.

_“I want you to remember this_ , _” he whispered, holding her face between his hands, his eyes staring into hers meaningfully, “remember this, River Song, right now, me and you,_ together _, on Asgard.”_

Through the tears that had again found their way out of her eyes, she can’t help but laugh a little. He’d been thinking, of course, of the picnic, long ago for him but in her immediate future. He’d left her with a far more permanent reminder than he’d realized though. One hand drifts down to cover her apparently-flat-but-not-really stomach. No chance she’s ever be able to forget it _now_ would she? He’d move on though, he always did. He already had, in a lot of ways.

”There are a lot of beautiful things in the universe, no point in going back,” she murmurs, and straightens her shoulders.

River stays on the balcony, watching the flickering lights. She tells the baby a story about a polar bear from a children’s book she’d found in Anthony’s attic between phone calls with Clara. She’s pretty sure she gets a few of the details wrong. When she’s done she closes her eyes and takes all the memories of him and her _“together on Asgard”_ and puts them in a little box in her head. They’re still there, of course, but between them and her are his blank, not-knowing-her eyes and Charlotte’s little fingers tucked into hers and a cold hospital window. Another lifetime. A different face. She can compartmentalize too, thank you very much. 

She leaves the balcony and closes the door behind her. She closes the curtains over the windows (smaller than the fish-bowl room) too, and finds her way through the darkened room to climb into bed next to Clara. Clara’s breathing is slow and deep, and River strokes her fingers through Clara’s hair until she falls asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyheyhey, check out this nice long chapter! Have I mentioned lately how much I enjoy you guys enjoying this story? Thanks for sticking with it :)

She doesn’t manage to sleep much, woken up in the very early hours of the morning by a nightmare, and the baby, terrified. With her hands clenched over her stomach, River slips back out to the balcony and sinks down with her back against the closed door, staring up at the sky. She lets the memories that the fading, flickering lights draw up pull at her emotions, pouring the safety of his father’s arms and smile and _love_ into his frightened little mind until the panic slips back into sleep. She curls herself around him, hugging her knees to her chest. The sun rises slowly, the sunlight chases away the rainbow lights and begins defrosting the landscape. The trees unfurl their leaves, the layer of ice that had settled over everything in the frigid evening melting and turning to steam. It hovers in the air, catching the morning light and shimmering as it fades. It’s beautiful, like a whole new planet being born on fast-forward right there in front of her.

There’s a door buzzer on the balcony, so she knows when he shows up at her and Clara’s room. He rings, and even though it’s a nice, melodious sound, when he does it seven ties in quick succession, it loses it’s charm. Gritting her teeth, River is determined to ignore him.

Of course it doesn’t work-ignoring him rarely does-and a few minutes later the door behind her slides open. She tilts her head back to glare up at him and bumps against his knobby knees.

“It is _really, really_ early,” she grits out.

“Well, you’re awake anyway,” he breezily steps over her and she glares at his bandy legs.

“You didn’t know that when you rang the doorbell s _even times_.”

“Well, Clara managed to sleep through it alright. And anyway, why didn’t you answer, hhmm? You’re just being difficult,” he punctuates his accusation with his pointer finger, squatting down to poke her forehead.

River huffs at him, swatting at his offending finger and standing quickly, “Maybe I just don’t like seeing _you_ first thing in the morning.” Which isn’t really true, under different circumstances she’s be very happy to see him first thing in the morning. Particularly if he happened to be naked.

But that really isn’t a good thing to be thinking about at the moment.

“Did you want something?” she asks him.

“Yes, actually. I was thinking breakfast.”

“Well you came to the wrong place for that, I haven’t got anything to eat.”

He looms into her personal space, glaring down at her, “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re really as daft as you seem or if you’re just trying to be obnoxious _all the time_.”

_“That would mean nothing to anyone. It's insane. Worse, it's stupid!”_

“And you wonder why I didn’t want to see you this morning!” she snaps at him, squeezing her hand in a fist at her side as she feels the sudden urge to slap him.

She _hates_ this.

Something must show on her face, because as he steps back his eyes drop away from hers and his shoulders sag.

He sighs, shakes his head, and fixes his eyes at the wall off to her right shoulder.

“I just…. I thought, you know, we could have breakfast together.”

“With Clara?”

“What? Yes, yes, of course with Clara. But she’s asleep still, so actually not with Clara. Of course,” he clears his throat, shuffles his feet awkwardly, “Because we really should let her sleep.”

“We could wait until she wakes up, I’m sure she’ll be hungry.”

He pouts, “I’m hungry _now_ , and anyway, we can just have breakfast again, with Clara, when she wakes up.”

“Two breakfasts?”

He grins like a little boy and rubs his hands together, looking up to meet her eyes again, “Yes!”

Her fist relaxes in defeat. She’s never been able to resist that smile.

They’re the only hotel guests awake, and the early morning staff casts grumpy, sleepy-eyed glances their way as they stroll into the lounge, bickering at a higher volume than is probably appropriate in a hotel full of sleeping guests.  The Asgardian chairs are too high, and the Doctor has to give her a boost, which is all a bit ridiculous. It’s a funny mix of trying not to shiver in delight at the warmth of his hands and a constant awareness of the ridiculousness of their situation, as he hoists her up and shoves helpfully at her dangling legs. When it’s his turn to make the ascent, he doesn’t fair much better, all flailing limbs and crooked bowtie. There’s nothing to do but laugh at him.  

He tries to look put-out, but with his hair everywhere and bowtie askew it’s even harder to take him seriously than usual.

“Well,” he says, “You weren’t much better.”

“We need those step-stool things they have in the rooms,” River agrees, reaching for the holographic menu controls in the table.

“Apparently they don’t hand those out this early in the morning.”

“Maybe they would have if we weren’t so loud.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He asks, and they’re sitting there smiling at each other through the blue haze of the menu. She should fix that, but suddenly can’t be bothered.

Their food comes, and the taste is familiar, and it really could be one of their dates, she thinks; him and her awake before everyone else, laughing and bickering over breakfast. The taste is strange, with her new taste buds though. She eagerly eats a fruit she’d always loved, and the taste is so terrible on her new tongue that she actually spits it out on her plate. Well, she tries to spit it out on her plate, what actually happens is that she misses her plate, and the offending, half-chewed slice of fruit ends up on the Doctor’s plate.

He looks disgusted for a moment, and then he looks delighted, “Your face was hilarious! And you _spit_ your food _across_ the t _able!_ ”

“Well it tastes awful!”

“Really? The last person I came here with loved them,” he says, offhandedly almost, prodding her half-chewed fruit slice away from his own food.

He says it so casually. It feels like a splash of cold water across her face.

“She must have been mad.”

He looks up at her slowly, “Yeah,” he says, “ _she_ was a bit.”

They’re no longer alone, guests trickling in and out around them, and before she knows it they’ve jumped into a game of, “name that Asgardian.”

The Doctor is telling her what a species-ist she is for naming them all “Harry” and “Harriet” when Clara finds them.

“Ha! What do you mean my names don’t reflect who they are as individuals? You’re just calling them after random British monarchs!”

“ _Not true!_ I am calling them after my f _avorite_ British monarchs, I’m honoring them!”

River shakes her head at him, remembering a queen with a gun in an art gallery, “Oh really? Is that why you’ve called all the females ‘Elizabeth’?”

“Yes, but not the same Elizabeth; I’m numbering them. The more attractive one’s get named after my favorites.”

“You’ve already gotten to 13! And how can you even tell which of them are attractive and which aren’t?”

“There you go being species-ist again,” he flicks her long abandoned fruit slice at her, “Keep that up and you’ll get us kicked out of here. Done that once, and let me tell you, you don’t want to know where the legend of Thor’s hammer _really c_ ame from.”

“Actually, I’m a bit keen to know,” Clara pipes up from next to their table. River starts, berating her own lack of attention.

“If food fighting’s the worst you two have come to, I’m relieved. I was half-expecting a blood bath.”

“Clara!” says the Doctor, and River feels better at the surprise in his voice too, at least she wasn’t the only one, “You found us!”

“Mostly by accident, I was just following the smell of food. And bickering.”

“I’m so sorry Clara, I meant to be back by the time you woke up,” River tells her, genuinely regretful.

“Oh it’s alright, you were probably starving waiting for me to wake up for so long,” River blinks, confused, “It’s almost lunch time, I think, at least as far as I can tell,” Clara finishes, gesturing to her watch.

River looks down at her own watch, shocked, then looks up at the clock hanging on the wall (weird and oblong, and set for 14 hours instead of 12, but she manages to make sense of it).

Four hours. Their breakfast had stretched out over four hours.

She catches the Doctor’s eyes over the table. How had that happened?

“Yeah,” the Doctor says, still looking at her, “Mo looked like she might faint from hunger when she came and found me in my room. I tried to convince her to wait for you, but she just couldn’t do it. She said something about having two lunches if necessary,” he winks at her, and she rolls her eyes.

The staff bring Clara a chair (and a stool, apparently they _do_ hand those out later in the day) and as she joins them at the table and starts into her lunch, she looks none the worse for wear. She eats enough to feed a small army though.

“So, about the real story of Thor’s hammer,” Clara starts a little while later, dropping her napkin onto her cleared plate.

“You really don’t want to know,” The Doctor assures her, and River hides her grin in her drink.

“I do though, I’m really curious. Asgard is from Norse mythology, why is it a planet inhabited by talking hairy people?”

“They are _hairy_ , aren’t they,” River agrees, pointedly, earning her a glare from the Doctor.

Clara looks between them bemusedly.

“Bit of a long story. How about a tour then?” the Doctor asks, “it’s a really nice place in the daytime, Asgard, how about it?”

“A tour? We’re _stranded_.” River points out, and really, she could do without more time on this all too familiar planet. His overly-dramatic, archaeologically-incorrect re-telling of the planet’s history isn’t really something she’s looking forward to either.

“We are not stranded, Mo. Our transportation just decided to stop cooperating for an unknown period of time.”

“Sounds like a plane crash,” Clara says, cheekily.

“She has not c _rashed,_ she’s simply decided not to fly. We’ll be fine. And in the meantime, Asgard!”

And so River finds herself in the Asgardian national museum, standing, once again, over a miniscule display about primitive earthlings accidentally stowing away on an Asgardian ship, and returning to their own planet under the impression that they’d been to the home of the gods.

“Of course, they’re leaving out the bit about w _ho_ took that lot of Vikings back to earth,” the Doctor preens.

“Why am I not surprised?” says Clara. She nudges River with her elbow, “It was him, by the way. You can tell by that smug little smirk on his face.”

In truth, he would have been be-headed by the leader of the little Viking pack if she hadn’t been there watching his back. Of course, he doesn’t mention that part of the story.

She glares at him, and he has the audacity to look confused.

“What?” he asks her, “not a fan of Vikings?”

“No, I just think you could’ve straightened things out for them, you know, explained to them that they hadn’t gone to heaven and met the gods.”

“Well how do you know I didn’ttry?”

He hadn’t tried. Actually, he’d tried to convince them that River herself was some sort of goddess queen who had kidnapped him to be her love-slave. By some miracle that particular part of the legend hadn’t made it past a few generations.

“You didn’t,” she says, flatly, moving on to peer at other, far more interesting displays.

He claims credit for quite a few other things in the museum, and by the time they f _inally_ leave she’s so frustrated with the strain of biting her own tongue, she’s well and truly cross with him.

When they finally make it back to the Tardis the door swings open in greeting, and the ship hums softly in the back of River’s head. She shoves all of her frustration back at her, glaring at the mockingly open doorway as Clara and the Doctor cheerfully prance inside. She pulls up all of her worst memories of the day (Being with the Doctor on any sort of public transportation was _never_ a good idea) and pouring them all into the smug presence settling against the back of her skull.

“There now, you see? I told you it would be fine,” the Doctor tells Clara, patting the doorframe as they pass through.

River hesitates for a moment before joining them. It’s just getting to that time of day when the shadows start to grow long. Underneath the tree, the spot where their picnic blanket had left a mark the day before is clear. It feels strangely empty, like there should be _something_ there, some small sign that something important had happened right there under the gently curling leaves.

But then, she thinks as she turns away, it was only a picnic, really.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!! I totally meant to have this up earlier, I even had dreams of some special holiday chapter, but.... then life :(   
> On another note, was the Christmas special good or what??? LOVED it! And I really like the character development in Clara all last season. I feel like my Clara is based off of the pre-50th Clara, but she's just such a more rounded out character these days, hopefully I'll be able to incorporate more of that. Although, I guess it's been a few years for Clara, maybe the character development reflects her growing maturity too?   
> Anyway, I hope everyone had a really great holiday season, as always thank you for reading, I love your kudos and comments!

The Doctor leaves the Tardis in the vortex for a while, going back to his pointless fiddling and attempts to reason with the ship. River goes back to the library and the Tardis’ medicine cabinets whenever she can disengage from Clara and avoid the Doctor.

And then, just a few short days later, the Doctor spins into the kitchen one morning announcing he’s “fixed it!”. They join him in the console room, the Tardis lands (loudly), and the Doctor throws the door open to the view of a starry night sky and an endless expanse of dessert stretching out into the distance.

“Doctor,” Clara says, slowly, “where are we?”

He stands in the open doorway, frozen. “Egypt,” he answers, shortly.

“Are you sure?” Clara asks him, peering around his unmoving form.

“Yep.”

River bites back a sigh, glaring at the time rotor, “We’re on top of a pyramid, aren’t we?” she asks.

“Yep.”

They don’t dare go outside, in case the Tardis decides to lock them out again. They can’t leave either, because the Tardis has decided not to fly again.

The day drags on, unchanging. River tries not to think about where they've landed. She plays ancient board games with Clara and explores a terrarium type room that shows up just a couple doors down from Clara’s bedroom.

The Doctor disappears under the console room floor, and no attempts to pull him into their board games or explorations proves fruitful. He is too bright and talkative when they’re with him, avoiding eye contact and falling far too quiet as soon as they turn away. Hours later, Clara asleep again, River finds herself seated in the Tardis’ doorway, left open to the desert breeze. Her back is warm against the open door, the breeze from the dessert cool and sharp against her face. It smells the same, which suddenly strikes her as very strange. Shouldn’t it be different now than it had been then, when time was broken and everything happened all at once in the middle of one moment as the universe collapsed in on itself? It feels so calm now, so still. She remembered last time, with the stars burning out around them, and it didn’t seem like anything should be the same.

Behind her she hears the Doctor emerge from the depths of the Tardis. His feet drag, and he isn’t chattering to himself the way he usually does.

Mentally begging the Tardis not to lock her out all by herself at the top of a pyramid in the middle of the desert, River slips quietly out of the doorway and around the corner, settling behind the open door with her back to the wall. She listens, hoping he’ll leave again so she can slip back inside before the Tardis decides to be contrary. Instead she hears his footsteps drawing closer, and the door bumps softly back against it’s hinges as she hears him settle into the place she’s just vacated.

_Of course, because it’s never easy with him._

For once, and of course when it’s least convenient, he seems entirely satisfied to sit still for quite a long time. As the minutes pass, she relaxes, resting her head against the wall and turning her focus back to the unfamiliar stillness of the familiar place. It’s not supposed to happen with the bio-dampeners, but she thinks she can smell the Doctor now too, familiar like the desert.

_“I’ll make it a good one.”_

He’s quiet, which is strange and out of place, but also somehow fitting against the unfamiliar stillness of the desert. The only word he says is a very soft, “why?”, and his voice is so sad she almost rounds the corner to hold his hands and kiss his silly face until he figures it out.

She doesn’t though, because--

_“You are an echo, River.”_

He goes back inside after a little while, and she follows after his footsteps have faded. A short time later the Tardis flies again. Clara wakes up, disappointed they hadn’t been able to see more of the pyramid, and River watches the Doctor’s jaw clench and a line slip between his eyes as she says it.

The Tardis decides to take them to the Thames next. Not to the same year, but it’s winter, and the river is frozen. The Doctor steps out onto the ice and immediately slips and falls. Clara laughs, and the Doctor complains, but a few minutes later she’s watching them from the doorway. The serious ice skaters slip carefully around them as they stumble across the ice in their shoes, clutching onto each other and laughing like children.

“Come on Mo!” Clara calls to her, waving so wildly that she unbalances, her feet slipping out from under her. She grabs the Doctor on their way down and they land in a tangled, giggling heap.

River decides to stop watching after that. She tells herself it’s a good thing; that even here he can be happy, unburdened by the memories she just can’t get away from. He isn’t sad and alone, and that is _good;_ it’s what she’d wanted for him. It’s doesn’t feel like a good thing though, and she finds her way under the new console room platform. It’s a little sad and dark without the glass floor letting in the console lights from above, but the repair swing is still there. She sits in it with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth to the familiar cadence of the Tardis idling. 

“What do you think?” she hears Clara ask, accompanied by the heavy sound of their feet overhead, “Should we find some ice skates and make a proper go of it?”

“You can if you’d like, I’m out of space on my bum for further bruising.”

“It is a scrawny little thing isn’t it?”

“Oi!”

River climbs back up onto the platform just in time to see the Doctor jumping away from Clara’s mocking perusal of his backside.

“Well it is, don’t you think so Mo?” Clara asks as she catches sight of her.

River fixes a grin on her face as she tries very, very hard _not_ to look at his backside with the appreciation she feels for it, “Oh yes,” she lies through her teeth, “very scrawny and unattractive. Is that why you wear such a long coat these days?” She realizes her mistake a split second after the words leave her mouth. It’s such an obvious slip that even Clara notices.

“What?” Clara asks, “He’s always worn that coat….”

The Doctor walks over to her, he stands too close and peers carefully into her eyes.

“Not always, actually.”

“Back. Up." she snaps into his looming face, "I saw a picture,” River tells him, glaring back into his gaze and tilting her chin defiantly.

“Where?” he asks her, softly. He isn’t quite accusing, but she can see the suspicion in the lines around his eyes.

“I don’t remember. Clara and I were poking around somewhere and there was a picture. You were with a red-head and some bloke.”

“Do you remember this, Clara?” he asks, not looking away from River.

“Not exactly, I mean we did find a bunch of pictures in a few of the bedrooms though. And I remember the red-head, with the legs. Why are you being so weird? Leave Mo alone, we were just kidding.”

He ignores Clara, “Where were you coming from, a minute ago?”

“Down below here, there’s a little room.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I found it, obviously, what’s wrong with you?” she snaps at him, and behind him Clara snorts and says,

“It’s not like it’s a big secret, you know, there’s a staircase _right there_.”

She holds his gaze for a few more seconds. It isn’t hard, and she realizes suddenly that maybe it should be, for someone without many years of experience facing down the Doctor’s stare. She breaks away, shoves past him angrily and leaves the room, stopping just out of sight.

“Why do you have to be like that?” She hears Clara asks him, “Every time I think you two are starting to be civil, you go and set her off again. She’s my f _riend,_ not some alien invader sneaking around on your precious ship!”

“She’s….odd.” says the Doctor, and River winces. She’d been aiming for thoroughly uninteresting. ‘Odd’ is much too interesting. Especially for the Doctor.

“No offense, but you’re pretty much the definition of ‘odd’,” Clara tells him, and the conversation degenerates from there. River slips away quietly, back to her room where she pulls her bag out from under the bed and checks her inventory list. She has a lot, in fact she’s fairly certain she has everything she needs, and some very useful extras, like the Gallifreyan children’s books and a very useful tome about teaching developing young Time Lords to train their psychic abilities.

She drops the perception filter around her abdomen, noticing the apparent growth there. “Almost time to go, little one,” she tells him, softly. Around them the Tardis lights dim sadly.

 

 

 

Well, there was some ice-skating, that's festive, right???


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!! Thank you all for your patience, this chapter took some extra time. It's hard to resist the temptation to get really cheesy with chapters like this one, I've gone over it with a fine-tooth comb to try to get it all out, but apologies if I missed anything!

She’d been planning to go back for Anthony later, when the baby was safe and her time on the Tardis was through. But between the distinctly non-cooperative vibe she’s getting from the Tardis and the thought of having to vortex around while massively pregnant, River makes an impromptu decision to move up her schedule.

(If there’s a half-formed thought in the back of her head about a little breathing space making her inevitable departure a little more bearable, well….)

So one evening after saying goodnight to Clara and locking her bedroom door, River digs her vortex manipulator up from the depths of her duffel.

She materializes next to Rory’s car, already acquiring a film of dust.

_“Why red, Rory, really,” He thrusts his head in between the front seats, face close to Rory’s as he says, hopefully, “Let me paint it blue!”_

_“Absolutely not. Do not, under any circumstances, touch my car. Ever.”_

_“I like the red,” Amy says. She’s still oblivious. River’s never been though, and she catches Rory’s eye in the rearview mirror with a pointed little smirk._

_“It’s always been his favorite,” she says, and Rory blushes._

A car passes on the street, tossing a lock of River’s hair across her eyes, and she pushes it away.

As usual with blue doors, she doesn’t bother respecting the lock, letting herself inside to the familiar entry.

“Anthony, are you here? Brian?”

Nobody answers, and River wanders into the kitchen. There’s a note on the fridge in Anthony’s familiar doctor scrawl.

_Gone to Leadworth with Brian, probably with the Ponds. Come along Melody._

She smiles, tucking the note in her pocket before re-setting her vortex manipulator.

The Ponds do not have a blue door. River stands in front of it for a few minutes, breathing in the familiarity through a new face. The Ponds won’t recognize her, of course.

There are memories in their house though.

River takes a long, slow breath and knocks firmly on the door.

Amy’s mother (and that is how she will always think of her) answers. It’s been literally hundreds of years since River has seen her. For Mrs. Pond, it’s only been ten years, and the lack of change in her is almost startling.

There is, of course, no recognition on her face. She smiles distantly, her gaze flickering curiously down to River’s clearly pregnant belly.

“Hello there, can I help you?” she asks, in her formal, grow-up voice.

_Not like she talked to Mels, with her, “You be careful now”s and her, “What are you up to in the flowerbeds, girls?”_

 “I’m looking for Anthony Williams, I heard he might be here?”

Surprise flickers across the other woman’s face, and then her eyes widen. She glances down at River’s stomach again, and then up to her face, tracing around the swirls of her hair, the angles of her chin and the (unfortunate) length of her nose.

“Oh,” she says, softly.

She then proceeds to burst into tears.

To Mrs. Pond’s credit and River’s relief, she’s not sobbing really. There are an awful lot of tears though, and her hand is pressed over her mouth.

Her eyes stay locked on River’s face.

River is too startled by the obvious recognition to respond for a moment, standing awkwardly on the doorstep,

_in front of her grandmother’s tears._ _They’d made cookies once, shaped like little men, with candy buttons up their fronts and lop-sided frosting faces._

“I’m sorry Mrs. Pond, I should have called ahead, um…”

Mrs. Pond shakes her head, wrapping her hand around the top of River’s arm and gently pulling her into the house, closing the door behind her.

“So, Anthony mentioned me then?” River asks ( _not_ looking at all the familiar things lining the hallway, the way the afternoon light falls weakly through the windows like it always did after school).

Mrs. Pond takes a deep breath, still leaking tears, “Yes he did,” she says, sniffling. “I’m sorry, dear, I need a tissue,” she doesn’t let go of River’s arm, pulling her into the kitchen and not even releasing her as she blows her nose and dabs at her eyes, awkwardly one-handed.

It’s quiet except for the sniffling and River shifts uncomfortably, her gaze catching on Amy’s graduation photo on the counter despite herself.

“Where’s Mr. Pond today?” she asks, quickly looking back at Mrs. Pond.

“Off with Anthony and Brian – they’re playing golf,” she manages to say after another tissue.

“Oh, I see, should I come back la-“

“No!” Mrs. Pond cuts her off quickly, the hand on River’s arm tightening almost painfully.

“No, please stay, dear, I’m fine, just a little surprised, all at once you know. First Anthony and then Amy and Rory being gone, and … _you_ , and there’s the little one too. And you’re _Mels_ , and then there you were, at the door, and you just,” she looks like she’s going to lose break down again, but pulls herself together with a shuddering breath, “you _look_ like them,” she says, softly.

“Sorry, I should have called ahead,” River says again, because she just can’t seem to figure out what to say.

_Much like Amy and Rory, really, and she understands completely why they hadn’t managed this._

“Yes you should have,” Mrs. Pond says, “you should have called _years_ ago, but that’s all water under the bridge now. I’ll make some tea, and we can chat, alright?”

Honestly River feels like running.

_Go back to Amy and Rory’s house with the blue door and sit in the (too) quiet living room with the more familiar ghosts._

But Mrs. Pond’s grip on River’s arm doesn’t loosen, and there’s something a little desperate in her fingers.

“Alright, I’ll just go wait in the living room then….”

“Oh, yes, alright, you remember where it is of course.”

River nods, and waits, Mrs. Pond doesn’t move.

“Um,” says River, “My arm, it’s—“

“Oh! I’m sorry dear,” she peels her fingers away from River’s arm, looking a little embarrassed as she turns around and starts making tea. River escapes into the living room before Mrs. Pond can change her mind and take hold again.

The living room brings back a flood of memories from her childhood – her second childhood, anyway – and she closes her eyes against

_(“The couch is the moon, Mels, and we’re stuck here, but the Doctor is coming,”)_

them and the memory of Mrs. Pond’s desperate fingers and tears.

When she opens her eyes, she’s looking down at the coffee table and a small stack of envelopes, yellowing with age around the edges. She frowns, recognizing the one on top as Rory’s letter to his father that Anthony had brought. Curiously she pulls the letter under it out of the pile. It’s addressed simply to, ‘Our Parents’.

She pulls the brittle paper from the envelope, and only has enough time to realize the letter is about her before Mrs. Pond rattles into the room with a tray. River quickly shoves the letter back where she’d found it, sitting back and wondering exactly how much Amy and Rory had said in that letter.

 

_“We’re not sure what to tell them,” Rory tells her, while Amy is in the loo, “ We’re going to though, they should know about you.”_

_River shrugs, because she’s still young, and it’s too fresh and she doesn’t know how to talk about it yet either._

_A week later, Amy won’t answer her phone. Worried, she takes a break from her midterms, makes a trip back to the house. Rory answers the door, and his smile is strained._

_“It didn’t go well, did it?”_

_He shakes his head, “I’m sorry,” he says, “We tried, but…..maybe someday.”_

They’d never quite figured out how to explain River to their family. It always hurt too much, so they waited, and then they were out of time.  

Almost as soon as Mrs. Pond opens her mouth, River realizes they had, at last, managed to tell it all, because Mrs. Pond doesn’t ask questions. Not the expected one’s anyway.

She grips her tea cup so tight her fingers are white, and she doesn’t let go, but she holds her voice calm. She asks about the baby, where she’s living (in a hospital, and that answer doesn’t go over very well), how long she’s planning to stay (just to pick up Anthony, and Mrs. Ponds shoulder’s sink sadly even as she nods politely). She doesn’t ask any questions about the past, and River wonders at how completely they must have managed to tell her story. She wonders when they wrote it, how many years passed, watching Anthony grow up between them before they could finally sit down and talk about the baby girl they’d lost.

The thought is a warm one, to think that they’d found peace with it all.

Mrs. Pond holds herself together for 8 minutes and 14 seconds of stiff, white-fingered conversation before she breaks the handle of her tea cup. She cuts her finger on the jagged edge in the process, with a sharp little “Ow!” and then she dissolves again, crying over her bleeding finger.

When they were young, River could never trace the similarities between Amy and her mother. But now she can see that they cry the same; emotions breaking out, messy and loud. River picks up a napkin and walks around the coffee table to sit next to Mrs. Pond on the couch. As she gently wraps the napkin around her Grandmother’s bleeding finger, River can feel her own years, piled up under her new skin, and the meager handful gathered up under Mrs. Ponds’ in comparison.

She wraps an arm around the younger woman’s shoulder and shushes her softly, like Amy long ago, and Clara not so very long ago.

Brian, Mr. Pond and Anthony make their return into the middle of the scene. Brian knows her instantly, she can feel the recognition in his gaze (and if it centers around her nose she’s just not going to think about it). Mr. Pond looks confused, and worried about his crying wife, and the stranger next to her. Antony’s whole face lights up,

_Like sunlight, safe from those teethed shadows._

“Melody, you came!” he says, and Mr. Pond, on his haunches in front of Mrs. Pond trying to get her to talk, falls back on his rear in surprise.

“Melody?” he repeats, staring at her.

Feeling awkward under his gaze, River is all too happy to get up from the couch and accept Anthony’s offered hug. He takes the opportunity to say softly into her ear, “are you okay?”

“I am now,” she answers, just as soft.

_The last centurion, kept her safe for 2000 years._

He pulls back to smile down at her, a little bit worried, more relieved and mostly happy, simply happy to see her. She smiles too, the out-of-balance feeling she’d been fighting since the front door fading

_as if it were blue after all._

Mrs. Pond moves to make sandwiches, but she keeps dropping things in the kitchen, and River and Anthony take her place, leaving her with her husband and Brian to process quietly in the living room. She can hear their voices, a soft and strained hum drifting through the doorway.

She doesn’t try to listen.

River surprises herself by remembering where the Ponds keep all their cutlery, and Anthony asks questions as he washes a head of lettuce in the sink. She doesn’t want to talk about the Doctor here in the Pond’s kitchen though, and Anthony catches on quickly.

“But you’re alright? Both of you?”

“Meh, we’re managing,” she tell him cheerfully, stealing a crisp from one of the plates and re-directing the conversation, “Have you had a good visit?”

He grins, nodding, “It’s been really good. Probably helps that we’re, you know, close in age.”

She laughs lightly,

_At the desk next to her, Amy’s tiny little girl’s hand wrapped around a blue crayon catches her eye._

 “I’m glad. How many letters did mum and dad send you with though? I noticed a stack up to my eyeballs on the table out there.”

“Oh, yeah, they got kind of chatty in their old age. Well, they weren’t that old, really, I just thought they were because, you know, _teenagers_. They wrote the one about you around the time they explained the whole thing to me.”,

She takes the lettuce out of his hands, tearing distractedly. She tries to picture them, bent over stationary, calmly relating the events of Demon’s Run, Florida and Berlin.

_Amy crying on the couch, mascara staining her cheeks._

She shakes her head, “I’m glad they were able to do that, eventually.”

He smiles, “Me too.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so River will be back on the Tardis really soon, promise! There are plot reasons for the field trip though, so just hang in there ;) As always, thank you for reading!!!

They end up staying the night. Mrs. Pond seems to be under the impression that River and Anthony have an incredibly long and arduous journey ahead of them, and they need to be well rested and fed, and they should definitely wait until morning to make the trip during daylight hours, much safer. River very briefly considers explaining to her how incredibly inapplicable all of those qualifications are to time travel. With even greater brevity she considers explaining just how little sleep she actually needs, as compared to, well, humans. But Mrs. Pond has her talons around her arm again and a sheen of tears lingering at the corners of her eyes, so River nods and smiles instead.

Anthony is in the guest room, so she takes River to Amy’s room, and it’s both wonderful and awful all at once. Mrs. Pond seems to think so too. She reminisces for a while, more stories of Amy and Mels, and River listens and remembers with her because she can see the grief Mrs. Pond is wading through, and because she cries like Amy.

When Mrs. Pond leaves, Anthony sneaks in, and River is glad for it, for his warmth and alive-ness filling up Amy’s empty space. He sits next to her against the headboard.

She’d been planning to tell him later, maybe when he was home, settled, maybe when it was closer to the time, but suddenly as he’s filling up the empty spot, she needs to know whether she can lean into his shoulder and not regret it later.

“Anthony,” she says, tracing a make-up stain on the edge of Amy’s blanket, “there’s something I need to tell you,” she pauses, a list of ways she could manipulate him into doing what she hopes he will shooting through her mind. She shakes it away though, “I have to ask you something.”

“Okay”, he says, slowly, “I’m sensing this is a big important something.”

“Yep, pretty big.”

“Tell me quick, the suspense is killing me,” he says, and she can see his little grin out of the corner of her eye.

“Anthony,” she takes a deep breath, “you’re going to die.”

There’s silence for a long moment, and then eventually Anthony says from beside her, “Okay, and….”

She looks over at him, he doesn’t look worried or upset, just quizzical.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“You said I’m going to die.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as a big important something?”

“Not really, no. Of course I’m going to die, everyone dies. I mean, you’re going to die too, right? Eventually.” His eyes narrow, studying her face, “Is that what this is about? I always figured the reason you never came before was because you didn’t want to see me die,” he pauses thoughtfully, “You know, saying that out loud sounds kind of egotistical somehow. Strange.”

River shakes her head, “No, Anthony, I mean—“ she freezes, something tickling in the back of her head. A faint smell, a hint of ozone and… air speeder exhaust. In the wrong century.

Beside her Anthony sighs again at her silence, “Melody, come on—“

“Sshh!” She shushes him, eyes fixed on the window as Anthony falls silent.

She pads softly over to the window, standing outside the frame and pulling the curtain out just far enough to peer through into the darkened garden outside. Near the re-built shed she sees something move.

Dropping the curtain she makes a bee-line for Amy’s closet. She’d taken most of her things when she’d gotten married and gone to live with Rory, but there’s still a few old things, outdated and worn looking, shoved at the back. As she shuffles though the small selection quickly she looks back over her shoulder at Anthony, still seated on the bed, watching her curiously.

“Do you like James Bond, Anthony?”

He shrugs, “I guess so, I mean, who doesn’t?”

“A lot of feminists. If you want to come with me you should go find some black clothing to wear.”

“What?!”

“There’s someone from the future sneaking around in the garden outside,” she tells him, “I’m going to go spy on our spy. If you want to come with you have five minutes to get dressed.”

It takes him 6 minutes and 14 seconds, and he makes clanking noises as he walks back into Amy’s room. There’s a bulky flashlight and a can of pepper spray stashed in the cargo pocket of Brian’s pants.

Rolling her eyes she orders him to leave them behind.

“But these are _weapons,_ Melody. James Bond, right? James Bond is always armed.”

“Right, dear, that’s why I’m coming with you.” She winks at him and he just sighs regretfully, casting a last longing glance at the pepper spray she’d tossed on the dresser.

“Oh honestly, it’s expired anyway,” she says, rolling her eyes and pushing him out the door.

Anthony, as expected, is fairly useless at spying. She’d brought him along on a whim, or maybe in her old age she’s picking up the Doctor’s habits. Regardless, she’s just happy to have him there, shifting uncomfortably and much too loudly in the bushes next to her.

The lurker himself is gone, but the scent of time travel and the future lingers strongly in the air, and as River scans the area carefully with her pilfered sonic screwdriver, she has an idea of why it’s so strong.

“Come on, Anthony,” she says, grabbing his arm and entering coordinates into her vortex manipulator. He starts to make a startled sound, and she clamps her hand over his mouth as they rematerialize.

He looks around, confused, “Your watch thing is broken, we haven’t gone anywhere!” he hisses softly.

“It’s a _vortex manipulator_ and this is yesterday night”, she hisses back, pushing him into the shed and following, “be _quiet,_ honestly, you’re worse than _mum!_ ”

A moment later there is the sound of another vortex manipulator, and River watches through the grimy shed window as a dark figure appears.

She can’t see much, only that the figure is almost certainly a man. He moves closer to the house, right into the spot where River had first noticed him, aiming what she thinks is a scanning device in the direction of the back door. He only stays for about ten minutes before retreating back into cover and vortexing himself away.

“You can talk now,” River tells Anthony, and he releases a loud breath.

“What is going on?”

She shakes her head, “I’m not sure, but come on,” grabbing his arm again she types in coordinates for a few nights previously. They watch as the same man turns up, does his scans, and flickers away in a quick flash.

“Well, this is…exciting. Does he come every night?” Anthony asks, when the man has gone again.

“Maybe. When did you and Brian come to Leadworth?”

“Five days ago, why?”

She nods, and drags him off with her to the night before he arrived. As she’d feared, the watcher does not appear. At least not in Leadworth. When she takes him back to Amy and Rory’s house on the same night, lurking behind the neighbor’s fence and watching Anthony and Brian move through the warmly lit windows, their watcher appears at exactly the same time.

“This is so weird,” Anthony says, as soon as she’s given him permission to talk, watching himself settle in a chair across from Brian through the window.

“That’s _me_ in there, and I’m here too….” He shakes his head, apparently lost for words.

“It takes some getting used to,” River agrees, “Between the time I dropped you off here and this – well, not _this_ evening, but, you know, the evening we came from, where else have you gone?”

“Well….. we played golf today.”

“Okay, that works, where and when?”

He tells her, and she sets the coordinates, pulling Anthony away from the fascination of watching his past self.

At first, there’s no sign of anyone suspicious on the golf course. They stay at a distance from past-Anthony, Brian, and Mr. Pond. Anthony is terrible at golf. Over the sloping ground she hears Brian say, “Well, you’re not _quite_ as bad as Rory.”

“Wow,” River comments to the Anthony crouched beside her in a small copse of decorative trees, “You’re that bad?”

“ _Not_ as bad as dad!”

“I’ve met six-year-olds who could beat dad at golf. Actually, most six year olds could beat dad at golf.”

“I think I’m getting arthritis in my fingers,” Anthony says, flexing his fingers, “It’s because I’m _old,_ Melody.”

She’s reminded of their interrupted conversation with a sharp pang, pushing it aside as she bumps his shoulder with her own, “excuses, excuses.”

On the field the three men seem to be packing up. “Where are you going?” she asks Anthony.

“Lunch probably, we went to the club house. I had a sandwich, it was excellent. So were the fries.”

“Chips,” River corrects him, offhandedly.

“You sound like mom.”

“You sound like an American.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a _very_ good reason for that.”

They follow the trio at a distance, taking seats on the veranda out of sight of the table where the three old men are laughing together over their lunch.

“So,” Anthony says, tipping his head back happily towards the weak sunlight, “you still haven’t told me why we’re stalking this stalker fellow.”

“Because I think he’s following you. Keep your head down, would you?”

“What? Why? They can’t see us out here. And really, Melody, why would anyone be following _me?_ ”

“That’s why we’re investigating.”

“Stalking,” Anthony says, “this is stalking.”

She kicks him lightly under the table and he grins at her, looking like Rory.

“You’re the worst side-kick over,” she tells him, fondly, “Want some of those chips?”

“Why yes, actually, I’d love some _fries_.”

“Cheeky,” she says, rising and heading for the counter inside, smacking him lightly on the top of his grey head in passing.

She stays out of sight of the table where the three old me are, weaving carefully through the club house tables, close to the back wall. He’s seated in a corner, and despite the clever way he dips his head over the newspaper spread out in front of him, she recognizes him immediately – he’s the same man whose car she’d run into a library.

Quickly she changes direction and ducks into a restroom, pulling up her shirt and pressing the perception filter at her hip, the baby bump disappearing. In the mirror she lets her hair out of the clip she’d had it up in, teasing it around her face in an alluring way. She hadn’t dressed for seduction today, and it takes some work to turn her tunic-length maternity top into something remotely sexy, but with some clever tucking and pulling she manages decently enough. It still doesn’t hold a candle to her previous regeneration though.

“I could really use those curves right now,” she tells her reflection regretfully, applying a heavy coat of lip gloss.

He’s still sitting at the table, newspaper open in front of him, but as she walks by she can see the sheen of something disguised in the shell of his ear, probably a listening device. Smirking, she puts an extra sway in her walk as she passes his table, throwing a flirty glance in his direction as she passes. At the service counter she orders Anthony’s chips and a drip coffee, turning down the offered safety lid. She flips open her 21st century mobile, balancing both chips and coffee in one hand as she fakes distraction with a text message. As it is, it doesn’t take much faking. There’s a list of missed calls from Clara, and -- her hearts do a funny little flip--a random flurry of number she knows is from the Tardis. Pushing the distraction aside, she artfully bumps into the spy’s table with a high-pitched squeal, tipping the entire Styrofoam cup of coffee out across his table.

“Oh! Oh no, I am _so_ sorry, I am such a klutz sometimes!” she cries dramatically, leaning full across the table to grab a handful of napkins from the silver dispenser and mop at the coffee soaking into the newspaper. The man hisses as some of the coffee drips down the edge of the table and onto his pants.

“Oh you poor thing!” she simpers, bending towards him and dabbing at the coffee threatening his lap. Despite the angry grimace on his face, he’s obligingly distracted by her cleavage and she can see clearly the listening device in his ear and the bulge of his handheld computer in his pocket.

_Good boy,_ she thinks, leaning back and continuing her stream of apologies. He disguises his anger quickly, a friendly, charming smile slipping into it’s place that she remembers from Clara’s doorstep. She can still see the anger there through, in the tightness around his eyes even as his fingers loosen from fists.

“It’s alright,” he says, eyes flickering across her face, “How about you? You bumped the table pretty hard.”

“I did, didn’t I?” she sighs, pulling her shirt loose and the waist of her pants down to check for bruising on her hip. His eyes follow her movements with a knowing little smirk.

“Looks alright to me,” he says, and she pretends to muffle a pleased giggle.

“Is your leg alright? You’re not burned are you?” she asks, sitting across from him and leaning across the table as if to peer down at his lap.

“I don’t know, it’s still pretty painful, maybe I should take a look at it.”

“Oh,” she says, twirling a piece of red hair around her finger, “That sounds like a good idea, burns can be _very_ serious. In fact, you might want to have someone else take a look at it too.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning forward and leering, “Who would you suggest?”

“Someone _very_ skilled,” she leans in too, letting her fingers trace his knuckles and using the proximity to identify the edge of the vortex manipulator sticking out of his sleeve. It looks outdated, not 51st century, but not far behind it, maybe the 50th.

He chuckles, settling back in his seat, eyes looking her over appreciatively. “Nice as that sounds, I’m busy at the moment.”

She looks down at his newspaper pointedly, eyebrows raised doubtfully, “Oh really?”

“Don’t be like that, I’m working at the moment.”

“Tough job,” she says, sarcastically, moving to stand up, “hope it pays well.”

He catches her wrist as she moves to walk away, “What’s you hurry? Give a guy a chance, would you?”

“I wouldn’t want to interfere with your _work,_ ” she bites out, pointedly.

“I’m taking a break.”

“Really?” she turns back towards him, acting interested.

“A very short one, just long enough to ask a pretty red-head what her plans are this evening,” he says, flirtatiously, laying on the charm with another bright, fake smile.

She pretends to deliberate, looking him over before sighing and settling back into her seat.

“I guess that will work. Buy me dinner?”

“Name the place.”

She writes down the name of the closest hotel with a restaurant, her phone number and the time on a napkin. She circles the time twice, looking up at him warningly, “Don’t be late, I’m not a big fan of waiting around,” she presses a lip gloss kiss to the napkin with her eyes fixed on his, which darken obligingly.

“I can see that,” he tucks the napkin away in his pocket. River re-claims her chips and walks away with a wink over her shoulder.

Anthony is still sitting where she’d left him, fingers tapping restlessly on the tabletop.

“Sorry. There was a man,” she says breezily, sitting back down across from him and plopping the cooling chips between them.

He jumps, “What the- what?!”

“There was a man,” she repeats, biting into a chip.

He looks at her, with her hair down and her clothes tucked and pulled, baby bump invisible, and sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“I thought you were picking up fries.”

“I picked up a man at the same time, very convenient.”

“I don’t think I want to know.”

 “I got a _date_ , Anthony, with our spy.”

He gapes at her, mouth literally open so she sticks a chip in it.

“Chew,” she says, and he obliges, “To get information, I have a plan.”

“Right, ok,” Anthony swallows his chip, “So what’s next?”

“Eat your chips quickly, I want to get out of here before he thinks to check up on me.”

“And then?”

“And then I take you home. Really, Anthony, think about it; I can’t take my baby brother on a date!”

He sighs, “What was the point of bringing me on this trip?”

“What do you mean? You got chips, didn’t you? You got chips, I got a date, mission accomplished.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost back to the Tardis, just a bit more plot stuff and River being cool.  
> Thanks for reading!

At 6:30 she reserves a room on the third floor of the hotel, lets herself in and dresses up for her date, once again mourning her sudden lack of curves as she slips into a low-cut, form-hugging black dress. She tries on the three-inch heels she’d purchased in her size, only to find the muscles in her new legs don’t know how to walk in them, leaving her limping across the hotel room looking for all the world like a lame duck. She has to make a quick trip back to the posh store in London where she’d purchased them earlier to exchange them for a pair of flats. In the end, the result is significantly less sexy than she had been hoping for (although a step up from gimpy poultry), and she makes a mental note to spend some time in front of a mirror soon and figure out how to pull off sexy in her new body.

While she is less than pleased with her appearance, her date doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his gaze undresses her and she hides her disgust behind a slow, knowing smile as he presses a lingering kiss closer to the corner of her lips than her cheek. She turns her head before he can get too ambitious.

After a quick dinner, and a tedious game of footsie under the table, River lets him push her up against the wall of the lift and kiss her neck, watching the floor numbers rise much too slowly. She pushes him off eagerly as the doors open, hoping her giggling doesn’t sound too fake as she pulls him down the hall to her room. He wraps his arms around her from behind as she slips her key card into the door, and she flinches as his heavy arms tighten around her precious stomach like snakes. He’s too warm at her back, his breath smells like dinner and she fights back the disgust coiling in her gut.

_It’s almost over,_ she thinks, slipping into the room and pulling him along with her. The door clicks shut behind them and she twists out of his arms.

“Have a seat,” she says, hoping her smile looks excited, “Just give me a minute to freshen up.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” he tells her, his voice low and rough and _selfish_ , arms wrapping around her again, stifling.

“Just a minute, I promise,” she insists, freeing herself and all but running for the bathroom.

In the mirror she sees there are marks on the skin of her neck and her hair is a mess. She feels dirty, and almost angrily River apples a thick coat of the pink lipstick stashed away carefully in the top drawer. She pursues her lips and her face looks even more unfamiliar than usual.

She squeezes her eyes closed for a minute, pictures another face in the mirror and

_“Look at you, all dressed up.”_

_She doesn’t turn, even though her heart rates spike, she keeps her fingers slow and steady as they pull the lipstick tube in a careful curve along her lower lip._

_Finishing leisurely, she presses her lips together to spread the color evenly. When she’s finished, she finds his eyes in the mirror._

_(Sharp, like a bird, brooding eyebrows perched at threatening angles)_

_“Well,” she tells him, “I’m seducing someone.”_

_He draws close, warming the air behind her, “Is it working?”_

_His hands land softly on her bare shoulders. The ring on his left hand is cool and smooth. He can feel the speed of her pulse, she’s sure.  She leans back, just a little, into those hands._

_“You tell me,” she counters._

_He presses a kiss to her shoulder where his ring had pressed a moment before and says,_

_“seems to have.”_

_“Naturally,” she agrees._

_“Hardly know why you bother though, really, have you seen his chin?” He rests his own very average chin on her shoulder, catching her eyes in their reflection._

_They’re warm. Warm and_ knowing _her._

_“I love the chin. Come to think of it, these eyebrows aren’t bad either,” she says, and it comes out breathy, but with this him, it doesn’t actually matter._

_“Just the eyebrows?” he asks, trailing his left hand and the ring down her arm to tangle with her fingers.._

_“No, not just the eyebrows,” she turns around and tucks herself into the darkness of his jacket, breathing in the familiar smell of_ this _him – dusty old university libraries on the moon and not-now-River-you’re-too-young, as his arms close welcomingly and they breathe,_ together.

_“Honestly though,” she admits, between exhales, “It gets a bit tiring, the chase.”_

_His hands move softly across her shoulder blades, “If it’s any comfort, so does the running away.”_

 Her eyes open, and she drops her hand from her left shoulder. The stranger’s face in the mirror nods back at her determined.

_Two strangers tonight._

He’s sitting on the couch when she gets back. She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything, just wraps his tie around her fist, pulling him close as she leans down and smashes her lips against his, holding his mouth there, letting him lick her lips until the pink is gone before she pulls back, smiling smugly as he tries to kiss her again. She wraps his tie around her fist two more times, watching it tighten on his jugular.

He smiles back like a fool, and then goes abruptly limp, slumping back against the pillows with a comical look of shock.

River smirks at him, “What’s the matter? Not feeling _up_ for it anymore?”

“What did you do to me?” he asks, immobile below the neck, eyes narrowed, glaring.

“Drugged you, obviously,” she answers lightly, tightening his tie until she’s certain it’s uncomfortable around his neck. She watches his eyes, sees him realize fully that she could kill him right now, with his own tie nonetheless.

“Who are you?”

She ties a knot to keep the tie tight and moves away, settling casually in the chair across from him, in his line of sight, tucking her legs under her comfortably.

“Better question, who are you?” she returns.

“Why should I tell you?”

She shrugs lightly, “Other than the fact you’re immobile and at my mercy for the next couple of hours?” she smirks, “Why shouldn’t you?”

“Because I don’t know who you are,” he grits out.

She pretends to consider, tapping her chin as she studies his limp form.

“Oh alright then, can’t hurt. I’m a student, doing some research. Anthony Williams is a distant ancestor of mine, I noticed you following him around and thought I’d have a little fun,” she shrugs innocently, “I hope you’re not some kind of professional because this was really quite easy.”

“A student with a vortex manipulator?” he counters, looking pointedly to her sleeve, slipped up past her wrist.

She frowns, pulling her sleeve back down, “Fine. I’m training to be a time agent. But it’s true about Anthony Williams. The agency thinks it’s good to have us practice time travel around our ancestors, since it’s our existence at stake and all, extra motivation not to screw up. And, coincidently, to take notice of other time travelers lurking suspiciously in their vicinity,” she cocks an eyebrow and props her head against her hand like she has all the time in the world, “But it’s rude to just go on about yourself on a date. So, your turn. Easy question; what century are you from?”

“48th.”

“Are you an agent?” she wrinkles her nose, “if you are, you should know, you’re an embarrassment.”

“I used to be, but I was recruited to work for a…. private agency,” he says, ignoring her taunting smoothly except for the tautness around his eyes.

“ooo,” she says, leaning forward as if fascinated, “a _private_ time travelling agency? That sounds _very_ interesting.”

He smirks, knowingly, “Does it now?”

She looks down at her nails, chaffing at his arrogance, “they must be desperate for people if they’re recruiting you.”

He glares, she smirks.

“They’re not,” he almost growls, “I’m extremely well qualified.”

“mmhm,” River hums, unconvincingly, “And what exactly does a private agency do in our field?”

“Interested?”

“Should I be?”

“Depends on what you like.”

“For example?

“Do you like money?” he asks.

River nods, chuckling, “Who doesn’t?”

“Indeed. What about the opportunity to make history?”

“With an agency from the 48th century?” she asks, doubtfully, “I don’t think so, dear, you’re already history as far as I’m concerned.”

“History can be changed,” he insists, excitedly.

“You sound like a recruitment ad,” River gets up from her chair, slowly walking across the space between them to settle on the couch beside him. His eyes roll in their sockets as they try to follow her, and she watches his pulse racing below his ear.

“It’s funny though, why would you be trying to recruit _me_?” she hums thoughtfully, strokes a finger down his knotted tie and moves his head with her hand, bringing herself back into his line of vision.

“You’d be an asset,” he answers, smoothly, “look what you’ve done to me. And you’re from the future. My employers would find that… useful.”

“You think I’d be an asset to your organization? And you’re willing to bring me to your employers and tell them all about how I easily seduced you? On the job? Even though they’re sure to be disappointed in their ‘extremely well qualified’ agent? Wow,” she shakes her head slowly, mock amazed, “So selfless of you.”

“I believe in what we’re working for,” he tells her, defensive.

“Oh really? Such strong conviction from a man planning to sleep with a woman he picked up while on assignment.”

She watches smugly as his helpless frustration bleeds through the mask of civility.

“What is it you want?” he bites out, “You really went through all of this just to mock a stranger?”

“Ah,” she says, with a smile, patting his cheek, “there you are. What I want is for you to knock off all this smoke and mirrors business and tell me what you’re really up to, and what’s with the recruitment speel.”

“Fine.” He snaps, “Here’s the deal, you let me go, I get you an in with my organization. If you want money, they can do it for you, establish a bank account in our time that will gather a fortune of interest by yours.”

She hides a smile, because she’s been there, done that, thank you kindly mom and dad.

“Sounds nice. And what’s in it for you?”

“I’ll come up with a story for how we met. You go along with it and don’t mention what happened here to anyone.”

River snorts and rolls her eyes, “Really? That’s all this is? Saving your own arse?” she gets up again, moving to stare out the window disinterestedly, “Your organization, It’s probably just one of those time travel schemes. You know there were a lot of those 50 years ago, a few time agents who snuck around and made interest laundering accounts in the past for themselves. They were caught, of course. That’s an old trick, outdated and ineffective in my time.”

She moves to pick up her bag from the table and starts for the door, counting four steps before the man on the couch behind her says, “wait, listen, I’m not just trying to cover for myself. Gaining an agent from the 51st century would be _very_ helpful.”

“Oh,” she says over her shoulder, “So you’re not only trying to save your arse, you’re also trying to promote it?”

“Yes.”

River pointedly turns on her heel, smiling as she saunters back to the chair across from him, “Honesty, my friend, that will get you everywhere.”

“I find that statement incredibly ironic coming from you,” he says with distaste.

“I appreciate honesty in other people,” she says, almost primly as she re-settles in her seat, “So, if I wasn’t terribly interested in this little bank account scheme you’ve cleverly thought up – which was cute, by the way, quaint, even – is there anything else your organization could offer a girl like me?”

“How about the discovery of a lifetime? Power to not just travel _through_ time, but to _change_ it, to _harness_ it?” his eyes light up, almost a little maniacally and warning bells go off in River’s head.

“Oh I see, you’re changing and harnessing time. Is that why you’re following an old man around a golf course?”

“We are in the process of building what we need, it isn’t done yet.”

“Old man. Golf course.” She points at herself, “Not impressed.”

“Have you ever heard,” he pauses, his voice dropping dramatically,  “of the Time Lords?”

_“The Time Lord must die!” One eye gleaming harder and colder than the steel that covers the other._

River tips her head back against the back of her chair as she laughs loudly. “Oh no, you’re one of _those_. A Time Lord hunter!” she breaks out into another fit of laughter, “a whole little organization of them.”

“We are not—“

“Oh but you are,” she cuts him off, reaching again for her bag, “Time Lords are a _myth,_ ” she makes for the door again, “I don’t have time for this.”

River has every intention of leaving this time. Her hand is on the door, when the man behind her says, “You must have noticed Anthony Williams’ childhood in New York is time locked.”

She freezes, hearts pounding.

“Yes, so what?” she asks, not turning around, “Time locks happen, no one knows for sure why. I suppose you think the _Time Lords_ did it?” she asks with derision.

“I think _a_ Time Lord did it,” he says, “Anthony’s wife.”

River frowns, confused.

“Anthony’s wife is dead.”

“Is she?”

“Yes.”

“What if I told you we’ve found records of Anthony’s wife scattered throughout time and space? The same face, often even the same name, over and over again.”

_“You’ll be scattered along his timeline.”_

_“It will be enough to save him.”_

There is a faint ringing in River’s ears. She tries to recall the face next to Anthony’s in his wedding photo, but strangely she can’t seem to call it to mind.

“And so you think she’s a Time Lord?” River asks.

“Yes, and she’s hidden something in that time lock. Anthony Williams probably knows what it is.”

“He’s just an old man,” she turns around again, walks back to stand in front of the man on the couch.

He looks up at her, eyes narrowed, “You don’t have to take my word for it. Mark down some coordinates I’ll give you, see for yourself.”

“Fine,” River agrees, reaching for her hand-held and saving the coordinates he gives her.

“And here’s one more,” he says, and tells it to her, “When you’ve seen for yourself, if you want to see more, come to those coordinates.”

“Just giving me the coordinates to your secret Time Lord research base? Isn’t that risky?”

He smiles, “We have top of the line security measures in place.”

“I take it _you’re_ not part of the security team then,” she says tucking her computer away in her hand bag.

He glares, “Just remember, I get you in, you keep your mouth closed.”

“Bargaining while paralyzed,” she shakes her head, then pats his cheek mockingly, “I’ll remember, but only because you ask so nicely.”

For the third time, she almost makes it to the door when he stops her.

“You’re not… attached to Anthony Williams, are you?”

“Attached?” she asked over her shoulder, “Not particularly, why?”

“Why do you think?” he shoots back.

“Ah,” she says, catching the coldness in his eyes, “Not planning to make friends with any Time Lords you find then?”

“Not exactly.”

“What are you planning, then?”

He smirks, “Come find out.”

She laughs shortly, waving her fingers back at him as she slips out the door without looking back.

 

Back in the Ponds’ darkened living room River shifts quickly through Anthony’s letters and photographs on the coffee table. The wedding picture is the same as the one she’d passed by on his entry table, but she’d never paid his bride much attention. Sinking into an armchair River flips on the lamp and leans into it’s light with the faded photograph. Her breath catches as she recognizes Clara’s familiar, delicate features under a head of fashionably cropped blonde hair. Her smile is different, and the way her arm curves around Anthony’s in the picture seems off from the Clara she knows.

_“Mels!” Amy gripes, stalking towards her with a textbook tucked under one arm, “Why’d you have to run out of class like that, hey?”_

_“It was dumb.”_

_Nature vs. nurture and she doesn’t like thinking about things like that._

_Amy glares, shaking the textbook at her, “I thought you liked psychology?” she pouts, “Anyway, you missed it. I got into a real good argument with the teacher after you left.”_

_“oh yeah?”_

_“Yeah, because I don’t think my parents have anything to do with who I am. It’s all got to do with nature, I think.”_

_Mels glances away, shaking her head, “whatever, Amy.”_

She thinks back, trying to remember how, when and why Anthony’s wife died. Something about San Francisco, an accident, but she can’t recall the details.

Abruptly the light flicks on, and Anthony himself is standing in the doorway, blinking at her.

“Back already?” he asks, then stops himself, shaking his head, “stupid question.”

He sits in the arm chair beside her, on the other side of the lamp. “Is that my wedding picture?”

River nods, somehow unable to meet his eyes.

“I never asked – where did you meet her?”

“Through mom, actually.”

“Really?” she laughs, quietly, picturing it, “I bet mum _loved t_ hat.”

He smiles, nodding, “She did.”

There are a thousand questions she wants to ask. There’s a soft, sad look on his face though, and River knows where those questions would lead. She realizes she doesn’t want him to know about Clara, she doesn’t even really know how she would say it. How do you tell someone that the love of their life was the echo of someone else entirely?

 “Do you think you’ll be ready to leave tomorrow?” she asks him instead, “I can bring you back again sometime, if you’d like.”

“Come with me next time?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He shakes his head at her, leaning across to briefly touch his forehead to hers.

“They love you Melody, someday you’ll believe it, I hope,” he stands up, “Goodnight. Let’s finish that conversation about dying tomorrow to, alright?”

She smiles and nods, watching fondly as he yawns his way up the creaking staircase.

“Goodnight Anthony.”

 

The next day the Ponds and Brian, with the help of her traitorous little brother, wrangle out of her a promise to return, with Anthony and the baby.

She’s glaring at him when they materialize in his living room.

He smirks unabashedly in return.

“ _So_ , I think we’re overdo for a conversation about dying,” he says cheerfully, dropping his bag on the floor and settling happily into his worn arm chair.

“Sorry, I’m on a bit of a tight schedule, we’ll have to postpone.”

He looks at her doubtfully, “On a schedule? Is that a joke?”

“No, dear, I have things to do before I get too pregnant.”

“More dates to go on?”

“Something like that.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit short - sorry! She's back on that Tardis though :)

River sets her vortex manipulator to get her back to her bedroom on the Tardis. She materializes ten feet above the pool instead. When her head breaks the surface again, spitting curses at the arching ceiling, she hears the sound of the door opening. She turns, treading water, and there is the Doctor in the doorway, looking at her quizzically.

_“I think I’ve ruined this dress,” she comments, regretfully, plucking at the wet green fabric as the Doctor circles her, counting the marks on her skin under his breath._

_“You can get another dress,” he says, mid-count, before quickly picking it back up again._

_“Well, yes, but this is your favorite.”_

_He stutters and loses count on the backs of her arms. Smirking she turns around to face him, tracing up his arms with the very tips of her fingers and smoothing his bowtie._

_“Don’t see why,” he huffs unconvincingly. He doesn’t move away though._

_River smirks. “Well, I hear it looks better,” she lifts up onto her toes, tilts her head back to bring her lips up to his ear, brushing softly and deliberately against his skin as she whispers, “On the floor.”_

There’s a whole list of things wrong with her current situation.

First and foremost, she’s fully dressed. In the pool.

If that weren’t enough, her carefully (and expensively) straightened hair is now wet and already pulling itself up into ringlets.

And…the perception filter around her stomach is still turned off.

“Um, interrupting, am I?” he asks from across the room.

“A bit, yeah,” River quickly taps against her hip bone, hoping the water and the distance will be enough to hide the movement.

“Well, at least you’re not skinny dipping. Actually, looks like you’re sort of doing the opposite of skinny dipping,” he scratches his head, “but why?”

“I fell in,” which is true, actually.

“You fell into the pool, all by yourself, in the middle of the night.”

“Yes.”

They stare at each other across the room for a minute.

“I went for a walk,” River tells him, swimming over to the edge of the pool and leveraging herself out, heavy with water-permeated clothing and…. her backpack.

“You’re wearing your backpack,” he says, slowly, walking towards her.

“I was going to the library, I wanted to get some books to read in bed.”

“And…. somehow ended up in the swimming pool,” he squats on his heels, eye-level with her as he passes her a towel.

“Not my fault. Your ship keeps putting rooms in the wrong places,” she takes the offered towel, dropping her gaze as she rubs it over her hair.

When she looks up, he’s frowning at the top of her head.

“What?” she snaps.

“have you got curly hair?”

“A bit, when it gets wet,” she growls, “honestly, what’s it to you anyway?”

“Nothing,” he bites back, standing, “Nothing at all.”

“Good!” she stands too, toeing off her wet shoes and pulling her socks off, tucking the whole sodden mess under one arm.

She frowns at him, suddenly wondering at his timing, “hang on, what are you doing at the swimming pool in the middle of the night?”

“Going swimming of course.”

“In your clothes?”

“I was going to take them off.”

She wrinkles her nose, “ew. Do you do that often? Because honestly that makes falling in just that much worse.”

“My swimming pool, Miss Grumpy Pants, I do what I want.”

_“Put your pants on, at least, Sweetie.”_

_“Well there’s something I never thought I’d hear you say.”_

_“When my parents_ aren’t _on board I prefer you naked at all times. Unfortunately for both of us, they are on board. And this is the kitchen.”_

_“So? You. Me. Nero’s bath tub. Ringing any bells?”_

_“They’re my parents.”_

_“It was NERO’S bath tub!”_

“So mature.” River shakes her head at him, squelching quickly towards the door. “Please lock this before your dis-robe. _Please_.”

She’s only a little way down the hall when she realizes he’s followed her. She stops, turns to face him; “The pool’s that way.”

He wrinkles his nose, “It’s contaminated now.”

She folds her arms, muffling a little smile at that one, “Why are you following me.”

“I’m not,” he pokes her in the forehead, and his face is too close and she hates it when he does that, it’s all kinds of distracting and she just manages to catch that he’s saying something else “—ing you.”

She blinks, “What?”

“I’m escorting you, Mo. You keep turning up in the wrong places.”

“Or you could just fix this mad-house ship of yours.”

“There’s nothing to fix, she’s not broken, just opinionated.”

Half an hour later they’re standing side-by-side in front of a blank space of wall where River’s bedroom door should be.

“Still going with ‘opinionated’?” River asks.

“Opinionated _and_ pouting,” the Doctor says. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, does a funny little twitch and shoves his hand through his fringe. Then suddenly he’s shrugging his coat off of his shoulders and shoving it in her direction one-handedly, “here,” he says.

“What?”

He shakes the coat, not looking at her, “put this on.”

“No.”

He growls, faces her, and suddenly there are long arms around her shoulders, pulling the coat over them, reminding her of _Asgard, just a moment ago, in the frigid cold under the curling leaves_ “you’re wet and it’s cold. For humans anyway,” he gives the coat a little jerk, her shoulder sway accordingly in his direction.

She hadn’t been cold, not really.

The coat warms her anyway.

_“Find River Song and tell her….”_

He clears his throat, “Come on then. We have a special rule, you see, she has to let me into the console room at all times. Well, most times. Sometimes. More often than not.”

River laughs, (and maybe it’s a little too high pitched, but really!) “Fat lot of good it does you when she won’t let you fly.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's been sssooo long, I give you this long, angsty chapter :)

**Chapter 20**

In the console room she sits huddled under his coat in the jump seat, watching him pound away at the console.

“I don’t think it’s working,” she points out, “as usual. Is it always like this?”

“Always like what?”

“Going places you don’t mean to go, getting stuck, lost, locked out of your living spaces…. Seems a bit stressful.”

“No! Of course not. This is highly unusual.” He turns around, facing her, “Well, maybe without the ‘highly’,” he corrects, thoughtfully.

Unexpectedly, he makes a little twirl and plops into the seat next to her.

_Too. Close._

She tugs his coat tails out from under his bum and scoots to the opposite edge of the seat. “Oi! Find your own seat!”

“I have,” he bounces, happily, “My ship, my seat. Same as the pool, remember?”

 River growls, standing up and hugging his coat tight around her shoulders.

“You’ve never heard of personal space, have you?”

He ignores her, leaning forward as he stares up at her face.

“What?” she snaps.

“Your hair, it’s drying and it really is all,” he swirls his hands around his head like mad.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Hang on, I didn’t say it was _bad._ ”

“You implied it!”

“Why are you always so offended? It’s fine, it’s good, it’s… different,” he studying her far too closely. Anxiously she pulls at it, feels the way the damp curls spin around her fingers.

“I need a hair tie.”

The Doctor shrugs, sitting back in the jump seat finally, “you can check my pockets.”

 “Yes, I’m sure you’d like that but I think I’ll pass, thanks. You’re sitting on them anyway.”

“Honestly, Mo, my _coat_ , pockets.”

“Why would _you_ have a hair tie in your coat pockets?”

“I have lots of things in my pockets. Useful things.”

He does, of course, and she has to fake a look of surprise when her arm vanishes up to the elbow in its depths.

“What the—how am I supposed to find anything in this pit??” her fingers brush something round and metallic and she pulls it free.

A hamster wheel.

“Useful things?” she asks, sarcastically.

“That is a very useful thing… if you’re a hamster! It’s all about perspective, Mo.”

Rolling her eyes, River tosses the wheel at him and reaches into the other pocket. This time she pulls out a shoe. It’s shiny and red with a 4-inch heel.

_“Those don’t do anything, they’re just blue.”_

_“Yes they’re blue! They’re the blue stabilizers!”_

But that all happened with him in his tweed coat, and this is the purple one, which meant that—

_“Not_ a hair tie!” he snatches the shoe out of her fingers.

“No it’s not,” she agrees, dumbly.

_She shouldn’t ask. She should let it go._

“Who is that useful for?” she says to his back, trying to be snappy but it comes out soft instead.

“Not you,” he says over his shoulder.

River lets her eyes slip closed for a minute, glad his back is turned.

“No,” she agrees, “wrong size.”

_“That woman isn’t dragging me into anything!”_

She really should drop it.

“It’s not Clara’s either, is it?” she asks instead, like a best friend with the dodgy boyfriend.

His shoulders are very still. “Of course not. Here,” he says, finally, turning back around with the shoe cradled in both hands, “just put it back.” He reaches for the coat pocket and she twists away.

“What? Why do you want it in your pocket?”

“Because that’s where it belongs!”

“It’s a woman’s _shoe_. Maybe you should just give it back already!”

“I CAN’T!” He explodes.

“WHY THE HELL NOT?”

“Because she’s DEAD!”

With a frustrated little growl he snags the coat pocket, and _pulls._ She’s up against his chest suddenly, his nose is brushing against her cheek and he’s breathing, hard, the air puffing against her neck.

_“They wouldn’t bury my wife out here!”_

A thousand heartbeats later he straightens slowly, staring down at her like he can see through her new face.

_“I can always see you.”_

“Here you go,” he says.

It takes her a moment to remember why he’s holding a sparkly purple hairband between them.

“Where—where’d that come from?”

“My pocket, obviously.”

“That’s---I could’ve taken the coat off.”

“ _You’re welcome_ ,” he snaps, waving the tie in her face.

She snatches it away, glaring at him as she furiously gathers her damp hair.

Her fingers are shaking.

“You’re not very good at that,” he observes, still _right there_ , looming over her like

_Next to them the towers are so tall it’s like they’re bending down over them. She’s been wanting to come here for ages, but suddenly it’s like she can’t breathe._

_Turning her back on them she looks up into his shadowed face instead, “Can’t we get up on top of them, Sweetie? You know how I like to be on top.”_

“I’m not used to having an audience! How about taking a step back, hm?”

“Why don’t _you_ take a step back!” He folds his arms across his chest, bumping their elbows together.

Glaring furiously up into his _too close_ face she gives an extra furiously tug on the band around her hair. It gives with a snap.

“ _bugger!”_  she growls as her hair springs free, “This is what happens when you leave things in your bloody pockets for so long!”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” He takes the broken hair tie out of her clenched fist.

_Fingers brushing, tangling, danger in the shadows and they’re the wrong fingers but at least he’s holding on,_

“Turn ‘round, Mo.”

“No.”

He sighs, “Just this once, for _this tiny little thing_ ,” he dangles the snapped hair tie in front of her face, ducks his head, looking into her eyes and he’s _almost gentle,_ “Do as you’re told?”

Her hearts are doing funny things, distracting her so that his hands on her shoulders manage to turn her around, something about the softness of them pulling the steel out of her bones. The console glows softly in front of her.

“It’s too dark in here,” she says, abruptly, because it’s _true._

 “You’re strange, Mo,” he counters, softly. His hands move into her hair, long practiced fingers gathering the strands from the sides of her neck.

“I’m really not,” she answers, repressing a shiver, “you’re just so used to people fawning over you, when someone comes along and doesn’t really at all, it _seems_ strange.”

“You’re wrong, there are plenty of people who don’t like me. They’ve just usually got a _reason_ for the not-liking.”

His fingers pull her hair back from the front, fingertips brushing her forehead.

“I’ve got a reason.”

She feels him shake his head behind her, “it’s not just Clara. How did you know about my coat?”

“Really? Again with the coat nonsense, I explained that already!”

He pulls softly at her hair as he folds it.

“And the swimming pool? Why were you in there? In your clothes? With a backpack?”

_Not good not good._

“I explained all that too!” he makes a skeptical noise to the back of her head, “What about you then?” River snaps, “You’ve got slaggy women’s shoes in your pockets, and here you are knowing how to braid hair, where’s that coming from?”

_“_ _…three little girls,” he finishes, and the words are heartbreak laced with old sunshine._

_Something clicks together in her head like the revolver of an old gun, “Oh,” she says, softly._

_“What?” He brushes her hair back behind her ear, leans across the pillows to brush a kiss against her eyebrow._

_“The reason why it’s always the girls you take with you,” She pinches his nose teasingly, “You only ever had daughters.”_

 “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? Seems to me you’ve had a lot of women around, haven’t you? And where are they now?”

“I’m very, very old, Mo.”

“Yes well, my dear friend Clara _isn’t._ She should be important to the people who are important to her.”

“Clara is important,” reaching the end of the braid his fingers brush against the bumps of her spine.

_“My life in your hands, Amelia Pond.”_

“Like the woman who wore the red shoe?’ His fingers still, a long, warm breath raises the hairs along the back of her neck.

“You know what I think?” he counters, fingers moving again as he knots the broken hair tie at the bottom of the braid. He leans forward, his mouth close to her ear so that he only needs to whisper, “I think you’re lying about Siberia.”

River turns quickly, pulling her hair out of his hands. The reaction from the baby comes quicker and stronger than before. River reaches for the console behind her, her mind reaching for the baby while trying to hold her expression steady.

“I’ve been to Siberia,” he’s saying, in the same quiet, contemplative voice, “not much of a place for fond family memories.”

“I love my family, it was cold and we spent a lot of time together, inside. Fond memories were made. They just were, alright?”

He shakes his head, “In my experience, being enclosed in small spaces with family members for prolonged periods of time is not conducive to fond memories.”

“I’m sorry for your crap family experiences then!”

_“…not long after the youngest was born.” His words taste like gathered dust, sound like the grating hinges of an old door._

_She has no words for this old sadness. She’s never been much for words, but then neither is he._

_She kisses his fingers. He curves them, knits them between hers._

_She traces ‘husband’ in Gallifreyan across his forearm and his fingers quiver as he traces ‘wife’ across her back._

She fights to keep her breathing even, but it’s getting harder. The baby’s two tiny heartbeats seem to shake her spine.

_Please,_ she thinks, because there’s nothing left to do.

_Please_.

The time rotor sparks to life behind her with a groan.

The Doctor straightens, rushing past her to fiddle with the scanners on the other side.

_A shiny bauble catching the light._

River doesn’t wait to find out where they’ve going. She pushes herself away from the console and walks quickly _don’trundon’trundon’trun_ out of the console room.

Behind the first door she finds is a dusty, homey room.

There’s a bunk bed pushed against one wall, makeup and nail polish scattered across the top of the vanity in a corner.

And a wedding photo, featuring the bride, the groom, and the Doctor.

She collapses onto the bottom bunk, fingers fumbling through the wet fabric of her shirt for the hidden chip under her skin. A moment later the field drops and she presses her hands around her son.

“Sshhh,” she says, “It’s okay now, everything’s fine.”

His hearts keep pounding, and she can feel the inevitability in them.

_Nononono!_

And then the singing starts.

_Warm, bright and very, very old, singing like stars spinning and sun bursts flaring._

_“She says I’m the child of the Tardis.”_

His heartbeats slow, calm gathering softly, and River feels something wet and warm on her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she murmurs back to the lullaby in her head.

She wraps the quilt on Amy’s bed tight around her body, and wraps her body tight around his.

The room smells like,

_Little-girl Amy asleep in the moonlight, toys and books with soldiers in them spread around the room._

_So she lays down on top of the blankets and keeps her eyes wide open to watch her mother’s face._

Her eyelids heavy, she realizes the lullaby is for her too.

_Water is a song in the forest is only the river in the forest, winding, winding down to the river that is the ocean that is a river._

_Keep you safe._


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and all the lovely feedback, even when I make you all wait too long between chapters!

The following day, as they float serenely through another patch of unoccupied space, River gets together the last of what she needs. She’d been debating whether or not to take the cot. It’s special to him, that cot, and something he’s likely to notice the absence of eventually. She’d found it not long after boarding the Tardis weeks before, tucked away on a shelf, amongst a cluster of sad, lonely looking objects, left behind and kept, precious and unforgotten, over the years. She goes back to take one last look at it, and realizes she can’t just leave it there, sad and empty. So the cot is the last thing to go in the bag, along with a bottle of Amy’s perfume and Rory’s favorite plaid shirt she’d taken from their bedroom.

“You have to let me go back now,” she tells the walls, and feels the Tardis recoil from the idea. River sighs, pressing her forehead against the wall, “I don’t want to leave you either, but it has to be this way.” There’s a picture in her head, of a baby and blue wrapping around him,

_keep him safe._

“I know you would,” she whispers, “but we can’t stay, he can’t know.”

Between her plans to leave and the Doctor’s pouting, the Tardis isn’t having a good day, and she makes that very clear by parking herself in Stormcage. In River’s old cell, specifically, unused and cleared of all her personal affects. She knows it’s hers though, and she can tell the Doctor does to.

“What the-is this a prison?” Clara asks, gazing in bewilderment around the small, gray space.

“Back inside,” bites out the Doctor, “we’re leaving, _now._ ”

“But-“

“Now!”

Clara looks at River as the Doctor storms back into the Tardis, “I have no idea,” she says, helplessly.

The Tardis refuses to leave River’s cell, even when the prison guards come and can be hard pounding on the door outside.

“This is ridiculous,” River whispers under her breath to the ceiling, “they’re supposed to think he’s dead, you know.”

 The Doctor suddenly lets out a frustrated yell, slams his hands down on the console and collapses in the jump-seat with his head in his hands.

“Doctor,” Clara says, gently. She sits next to him, rests a hand on his shoulder, “where are we? What’s going on?”

“Not now, Clara,” he growls at her.

_“Trust you?!”_

“Let me help, ok?” she rests a small hand on his slumped shoulder, “What’s going on?”

“Leave it, Clara!” he yells at her, suddenly, throwing her hand off as he whirls around at her. Clara jumps back, startled. And maybe this is the first time she’s seeing it, the old-man anger.

For a moment there’s complete silence in the room, but for the muffled pounding of the guards at the door.

In the quiet, Clara stands, and River sees steel in her backbone. And hurt too. A hint of betrayal.

_“It will be enough to save him.”_

Brave, sweet Clara.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” River says into the tense quiet, and she’s perhaps _less_ ‘Mo’ than she’s been yet,  “Not to Clara, not after everything she’s done.”

He turns to look at her, eyes narrow and angry, advancing on her instead. He’s tense, like he’d been a long time ago deep in the pyramid

_“I don’t want to marry you!”_

and when Amy lied,

_“Everything’s fine, Doctor.”_

“Stop that! Just stop it! I told you before, I didn’t ask her to!”

“No,” River agrees. She meets his advance, driving into his space for a change and glaring up into his anger, “because you didn’t have to, did you?

_“They didn’t like it, that we’d had the three girls.”_

_“Why?”_

_“They…. It was common to, um, grow them in… bottles. More control that way, see. They said we’d had too many girls.”_

Over his shoulder she can see the pain on Clara’s face, and her anger grows,

_Amy and Rory and Donna, “Where am I in the future?”_

“ _You make people want to impress you!_ ”

“You’ve got her all wrapped around your fingers, don’t you? You don’t even have to ask. But, no matter,” she drops her voice, for his ears alone,  “She’s only temporary.”

 “No,” he snaps back, looming even closer, “No, Clara isn’t temporary! She’ll be here for a good long while, if she likes. But you! I don’t even know why you’re here!”

She almost takes a step back.

_“My Amelia”, and how could he possibly say no to her daughter?_

_Extra baggage._

_Heavy and unwanted, sitting on her head sparking death._

_“Remember.”_

The pain centers, and she thinks she’s hiding it, but then the baby wakes up again, heart rates rising, and the Tardis in her head, angry and worried and _this is the one thing she can’t protect them from here; him_. Behind her the rotor begins to rise and fall again, the sound of the Tardis in flight replacing the pounding at the door.

_Keep you safe._

But it’s sad this time. Resigned.

The Doctor and Clara both look up at the movement in surprise. River isn’t surprised, can’t even really pretend to be.

“Fine,” River says, finally, fighting breathlessness as the baby’s fear rises, “That’s fine. Just…. don’t talk to Clara like that again. She deserves better.”

_“It’ll be enough to save him!”_

She turns away from him, and his angry eyes that don’t know her. She leaves the console room, and her room

 _(Mo’s room._ Her _room is made for two and it’s far, far away somewhere. Maybe he sleeps there still, when he sleeps. Or maybe it’s closed and the door is rusty and she’d have to pull, hard, to get it open again)_  

is right there waiting for her. She gets what she needs from her bag, waits and hums softly along with the lullaby in soft gold until the baby is resting again. She feels them land, knows they’ll be back in Clara’s backyard this time. She picks up the backpack hiding her old duffel, much heavier than it looks with all her pilfered treasure, threading her arms through the straps.

The Tardis is so, so sad in her head, almost mourning, She wishes she could go back to her parents’ room one last time, sit on their bed and breathe for a moment. There’s Anthony though, waiting for her. She’ll get Anthony, and it will be okay.

With that thought firmly in her head she walks out the door. The console room is farther this time, much farther, and it feels like _(it is that)_ the floor is counting her footsteps the whole way.

In the console room, the Doctor and Clara are hugging. She watches them, expressionless.

_Anthony Anthony Anthony._

They pull apart and the Doctor notices her, his arms falling to his sides.

“Mo! I-“

She cuts him off, and finds that she really, truly, doesn’t want to hear his voice anymore.

She’s suddenly just so _tired._

“Can we go now?” The door is open behind them, and she can see the house and the lawn and an abandoned football in the grass outside.

“Mo,” Clara tries, “The Doctor-“

“Are you coming with me now or are you going to stay here?” River asks her.

Clara glances up at the Doctor, “I’m coming now, but the Doctor will be back next Wednesday, Mo.”

“Lovely,” River says flatly, “Thanks for….everything.”

It’s the last thing she’ll ever say to him.

She takes a long, deep breath before stepping back out into Clara’s backyard

_hold the exhale, the last of the gold-tinged air cradled in her lungs like water in the palm of your hand, running because it’s just the river, in the forest, the running, running river._

Clara files out behind her and a moment later she hears the familiar sound of the Tardis leaving. She can feel the emptiness, stark and sharp-edged at her back.

_“You have to walk like you can see."_


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely reader! Wow, thank you for all the responses, I'm really amazed!  
> And I'm sorry - I know I'm terribly slow. In my defense since starting this story two years ago I entered graduate school and moved to another country, so updating speedily has been and probably will continue to be tricky. I've got a week off school now though so I'm working ahead!  
> Just a note on River too, the whole idea of her hiding from the Doctor isn't so much that she thinks he never cared for her, but more that she thinks he cared for her because circumstances sort of forced him to. Basically, she's afraid he felt obligated by his relationship with her parents and the circumstances of both her birth and her death to care for her and even marry her like she wanted him to. She also realizes that he married her knowing she had an expiration date, calling into question whether he would have done so if it had been a bit of a longer commitment. So even if he's sad about her shoe in his pocket and her prison cell, etc., that doesn't necessarily mean (from my River's perspective) that he loves her the way she wants to be loved - for who she is rather than the circumstances surrounding her. I hope that makes sense, I remember the first time I watched TWORS, thinking that if I were in River's shoes, I would questions whether or not he actually loved/ wanted to marry me, which is sort of where the idea for this story came from.  
> And the Doctor will be back soon! In the meantime, romantic flashbacks will have to suffice :)

Almost immediately Clara begins to defend the _(her)_ Doctor. She tells River about how sorry he was, how he hadn’t meant it, really, and obviously there had been something going on to set him off like that.

River listens, and nods, and doesn’t try to argue.

_There’s a picture on their mantle of Amy in her white dress and Rory in his suit with the Doctor grinning madly between them from under the brim of his shiny top-hat. Mels hadn’t made the wedding though._

She tells herself it’s not a betrayal – it’s not like Clara _knows._

She’d planned to stay with Clara for a few days, but by the time Clara falls asleep that night, she’s had about as much as she can take. River pretends to wake up early the next morning, insisting she has to be in London to meet someone. Clara looks disappointed,

“The Doctor is planning to pick us both up next week,” she says, “I think he really wants to apologize.”

“Yeah, sure Clara,” River says, trying not to express how unlikely she finds that possibility. He isn’t much for apologizing, this Doctor. At least not about things that matter.

_“Always and completely forgiven.”_

She tears herself away from Clara, finally, promising to call. She’s not sure yet if she’s actually going to keep that promise, but Clara looks so sweet and so disappointed as she waves goodbye, River feels like she’d say anything to get the girl to smile and give her a break from the guilt.

She let’s the cab drop her off at the bus station, but doesn’t bother getting a bus for London. She finds the oldest, dirtiest restroom she can find and locks herself in a stall, listening through the door for the one other occupant to finish washing her hands and leave. When she’s gone River slips her vortex manipulator out of hiding and back around her wrist.

 

 A burst of static and light later finds her standing outside the best Earthen hospital of the 51st century. It had been exactly a week – local time – since she’d left. She breathes out a sigh of relief that sounds suspiciously sad.

_It’s better this way._

And she has what she’d gone for, and all things considered, it’s _good._

Inside the hospital she smiles at the young man sitting at the receptionist desk.

“Do you have an appointment?” he asks her, casting a curious glance over her incredibly outdated clothing and the back pack hanging dejectedly from her shoulder.

“You could say that. Just give Doctor Reed a call and let him know his patients are back.”

“Doctor _Taryn_ Reed?” the receptionist asks, eyes widening.

She nods, mentally making a note to look into Doctor Reed’s background later, since clearly he’s a bit more well-known than he’d let on.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, Doctor Taryn Reed doesn’t work here. I mean he’s here sometimes, for consultations and things, but he doesn’t _work_ here. And he doesn’t see patients.”

“What kind of doctor doesn’t see patients?”

“The really, really good ones,” he tells her, “Is this a walk-in? I can get you an appointment with, you know, a regular doctor.”

“No, thanks,” she sighs. She eyes the office behind him, briefly weighing how much effort it would take to just break into the hospital and find him herself. She feels utterly exhausted though, so she rules it out.

“Can I talk to your boss?”

He blinks at her, “Um… no.”

 “You have access to the hospital comm here, right?” she asks him, mostly just out of politeness, since she’d found it before he manages to form an answer.

She’s pulled the bag around to her front and is already digging through it by the time he says, “Well yes, but I’m not going to make an announcement for you if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m not,” she tells him, pulling the sonic screwdriver she’d pilfered from the Doctor’s pocket in the midst of their little showdown from the depths of her bag,

She points the screwdriver at the device on the receptionist’s desk and the entire hospital is filled with the sound of static as she quickly changes the frequency. “There now, that’s better,” she says, as the frequencies align, her voice crystal clear over the PA system. The receptionist gapes at her and then starts pounding at his control screen to no avail.

“Stop that, you’re damaging hospital property,” He flinches as her warning is heard all over the hospital, “Doctor Reed,” she continues, “your favorite patients are back in the building. Please come collect them from the front desk manned by the cross looking receptionist. Or possibly security, if you don’t get down here quickly enough.”

 

Doctor Reed does indeed have to collect her from security. They rush her through some re-entry procedures and health checks, and an hour later she sinks into her familiar hospital bed with a sigh of relief, tapping the pattern against her hip bone to release the perception filter over her abdomen.

“How long have you been gone?” Doctor Reed asks as he enters the room, looking down at her noticeably larger stomach with wide eyes.

“About a month.”

“Oh…. Well,” he shakes his head and with an ironic little grin, says, “Welcome back.”

“Thanks! I brought you lots of presents.” She reaches for her backpack on the floor next to the bed, pulling her duffel out of it.

“Liar, you couldn’t fit more than one small one in there.”

She smirks and watches him as she reaches into the bag, her entire arm and a bit of her shoulder lost in it’s bigger-on-the-inside depths.

“Oh.”

“Never underestimate a lady’s bag, Doctor Reed.”

“My apologies.”

He stays with her late into the night, going over her translations and notes, books and medicines. Finally he drags the whole lot off with him to the lab, grinning like a little boy on Christmas morning.

She has a feeling he won’t be going to bed anytime soon.

“Hey baby,” she says, stroking her stomach softly, “when you grow up and start making grown-up decisions, choose something to do that makes you happy. Like our Doctor Reed, who loves being a doctor for baby aliens and their mummies.”

She smiles softly, “and Mummy too, mummy loves old things, so she became an archaeologist, see how that works?”

_“Oh no, tell me you’re not archaeologists are you?”_

“And if you happen to love travel, like a certain someone we know, just be a travel agent, or a tour guide or something nice and normal like that.”

_“I’m a time traveler, I point and laugh at archaeologists.”_

She laughs, a little sadly, shaking her head at her own silliness “What am I talking about? That will never happen. Whatever you do, just be a good man, and be safe, and mummy will be happy.”

River knits her fingers together across her stomach and settles back against the pillows. She closes her eyes.

_Jetten Cora is trying to chat her up again, one last chance to take her home before they all go their separate ways. He’s getting just a little too close, and she’s enjoying the attention more than she should when she sees him again, watching her with narrow eyes from a corner of the crowded room. Their eyes meet, he raises his eyebrows and gives Jetten’s back a clearly disgusted look._

_‘You could do better’, his eyes say, and suddenly she feels ashamed. He slips out the door into the hallway beyond, and she finds herself pushing past Jetten’s shoulder to follow him with barely a thought; following him is like slipping on a well-worn pair of shoes. The noise of the graduation party fades behind her, and almost immediately she sees him, silhouetted against a window, half-turned away from her in the dim Earth-light. She knows that he knows she’s there. He isn’t surprised either that she’d followed him, and for a moment she’s annoyed, because it shouldn’t be something he assumes, that she’ll just up and follow him at his every whim._

_“Congratulations,” he says, pulling her out of her annoyance with a slight smile._

_“Thanks. I didn’t expect you to come.”_

_“Of course I’d come. I always come.”_

_“Ooo,” she teases, crossing her arms between them with a smirk, “tell me more!”_

_His lips twitch, he shakes his head, “Bad girl.”_

_“You like it.”_

_“Usually, not always.”_

_She narrows her eyes at him, studies the line of his shoulder, the way he isn’t looking at her, and suddenly realizes he’s actually jealous. Of her. It’s such an astounding thought that she has to take a moment to really let it sink in. He’d hinted at it, of course, a future of_ them, _but she’d never really made that connection between that future and what he might feel, right now, with her. The current her that is, just coming out of indoctrination and fear._

_When she does realize, her hearts fill with a feeling she hasn’t really felt before, but it’s warm and full, and also sorry, because it must be hard for him._

_She takes a few steps closer to his back, close enough that she could touch him with her fingertips if she reached.._

_“Do you know what I majored in?”_

_“Of course I do, silly girl.”_

_“Do you know_ why _I chose that major?”_

 _He scoffs quietly, “I have no idea why anyone, least of all a clever, talented girl like you, would choose to study_ archaeology.”

_She hums, and finally he turns around, looking down at her. His face is in shadows, but she knows it well enough._

_“I chose archaeology because I really, really like old things. In fact I think I like old things more than just about anything.” She can’t bring herself to look into his face, and she’s pretty sure she’s blushing as she fixes her gaze on his silly bowtie._

_“Well,” he says after a moment, and there’s such a warmth in his voice she doesn’t regret a word of her little confession, despite the embarrassment, “Do you know what I would major in, if I decided to study, say, at a university on the moon?”_

_She shakes her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips._

_He leans in close, teasing with his breath brushing over her ear and her cheekbone, “I would major in bad girls,” he murmurs._

_She throws her head back and laughs at him, “Oh really? I wonder what sort of classes you’d have to take.”_

_“Very interesting ones, much better than archaeology.”_

_She brushes her fingers over his bowtie, lingering, and then his fingers catch hers. He folds her hand between both of his like it’s something precious and her breath hitches in her throat._

_“Congratulations,” he says, again, but there’s so much warmth, gentleness and sincerity in his voice this time it’s like an entirely different word._

_“I’m really glad you came today.” She meets his eyes, and he smiles down at her and presses the lightest of kisses against her fingertips,_

_“Wouldn’t miss it.”_


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you SO so so so much for all of the kind comments and encouragement last time! It means so much to me and I'm so grateful for all of you! It was getting to the point where I was dreading review notifications in my inbox with all the conflict, but then I'd click in and see kind words instead and that totally made my day!!!  
> About the actual chapter.... it's a bit of a filler, but needed (and a bit of lightness) to get on to the next part, and there's some fun stuff at the end :)

 

By the looks of Doctor Reed the next morning, River had been right in her assumption that he wouldn’t get around to sleeping. He asks more questions, and together they work through a few more details, and then he’s off again to his lab. He’s in and out for two days, and on the third day he prances into her room, wild-eyed and un-showered, clutching a ridiculously large jug of coffee.

“Good morning Doctor Reed.”

He blinks at her quickly, takes a distracted gulp of coffee and squints at her window.

“Morning? Already?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well,” He plops down on his stool, grinning like a fool. He doesn’t notice the coffee slopping over the edge of his jug to stain his lab coat. Which, she notices, is on backwards. “I’m done!” he announces, happily.

“Really?”

“Yes! And I’m confident!” He leans forward, and she can see the dark circles clearly around his eyes, a sleepless haze to his eyes, “This is going to work, you’re going to be alright,” he lightly pats her protruding stomach with a silly grin, “both of you.”

He shows her what he’d come up with, and she has to admit, he’s amazing. When she tells him so he grins smugly and says, “Yes of course, professor, that’s why they pay me the big bucks – to pay off the massive school loans I accumulated while becoming the utter genius you see before you now.”

She shakes her head at him, “Oh no Doctor Reed, I’m quite certain there isn’t a school left in the universe that could teach you this,” she reaches over to tap his forehead, “you were born an utter genius, weren’t you?”

He grins at her, happy and proud, a lock of unwashed hair flopping across his forehead. It’s too dark, his hair, but her hearts clench anyway and she pulls her hand back quickly.

The treatments start immediately, and by the second day she can feel the difference. The sedatives wear off quickly under the influence of the new Gallifreyan concoction of medication, and she feels the baby wake up. He’s separate now though, cut off from her emotions like any other person not living in her body, unable to sense when fear or surprise floods her blood stream with adrenaline. She can still think _too_ him though, and she does, pouring love and safety into his little mind to fill the absence that the ebb and flow of her thoughts had filled before. And it all works, completely, like a charm.

The first phone call comes through while River is holographically following a perky real estate agent around a large house on the moon, not far from where she’d been living before the library.

The familiar ring tone fills the room, muffled from the depths of the duffel tucked carefully under her bed. She lets it ring, finishes the tour and declines the house. As comfortable as she felt living on the moon, she feels a strangely strong desire to raise her son on earth instead.

River fishes the rustic cell phone out of her bag, and it blinks up at her innocently, declaring a missed call. The date stamp inside is for a week after she’s left Clara, and there’s a voicemail waiting for her. With a sigh River hits the button to listen.

“Hey Mo, the Doctor just dropped me off. He was, um, really surprised that you weren’t here. What about next week? If you send me the address of wherever you’re staying right now, we can pick you up. You can even specify exactly when you want us to pick you up, come to think of it. I know you probably don’t want to hear this again, Mo, but the Doctor, I think he’s really sorry. And, um, I know you two didn’t get off on the right foot, but I think he’d really like to have you around. He seemed…. Well, I don’t know, but I think he missed you. I missed you too. Call me, ok? Bye.”

“Oh Clara, I’m so sorry,” River says quietly to the phone in her hands. She erases the voicemail, sets the phone to silent and tucks it back in the depths of her bag. She’ll have to wrap things up with Clara eventually (and the thought of it makes her cringe), but not now.

*********************************************

A week after beginning the new treatments she starts wandering the halls of the hospital. At first people are surprised to see her, but they quickly grow accustomed to the sight of her wandering around in her frumpy hospital clothes, poking her head in every unlocked closet and quite a few of the locked ones too. She even finds the cross receptionist again. His name is Lennjy Proez, and she buys him lunch from the hospital cafeteria as an apology for getting him in trouble.  

Doctor Reed finds them, heads bent close together as River imparts sage old lady advice in regards to the nurse in pediatrics he’s madly in love with.

“Making friends, I see,” Doctor Reed says from behind her.

“Oh, hello doctor, do you remember Lennjy?” she asks, turning around to face him with a smile.

He’s looking at Lennjy with eyes that seem a bit narrowed. “Nope,” he says, shortly.

“Er”, says Lennjy, “I’m the receptionist who, uh, received professor Song when she got back from her…. trip?”

“That’s strange, I thought they’d fired you.”

“Doctor Reed!” River splutters, “Why would they do that? It was a simple mistake,” she pats Lennjy’s hand on the table, clutched around his fork, “he’s a good receptionist,” she says, smiling at him. He’s looking up at Doctor Reed over her shoulder though, and he quickly pulls his hand away from hers.

“I try,” he says, modestly, “in fact I should probably be getting back to my desk.”

“Already?”

“Good seeing you,” Doctor Reed says, although he doesn’t _sound_ very happy about having seen Lennjy, and River watches her new friend scamper off, bemused. Doctor Reed circles around the table to sit in Lennjy’s abandoned chair.

“You scared him off.”

“So?”

River sighs, shaking her head at him, “I was giving him some much needed relationship advice, who knows if he’ll ever convince Rahel the pediatrics nurse to go on a date with him now.”

Doctor Reed blinks in surprise, and then red creeps into his cheeks. He looks down, tensed shoulders slumping slightly, “Oh, I see. Sorry.”

She stabs a piece of wilted broccoli with her fork, holding it up and staring at it morosely, “Never mind dear, you’ve only take away the only purpose I’ve found for my life in the last two weeks.”

“Dramatic. You know how I feel about that.”

She smirk at him and eats her broccoli, “The big money doesn’t come easily Doctor Reed, bear it and think of your space yacht.”

“It’s a hard life, being a rich and famous doctor saddled with a celebrity patient,” he agrees sardonically, stealing a crisp from her plate.

“Clearly. So what brings you down here to the humble cafeteria? Aren’t you rich enough to go somewhere else? Afraid you’ll be mobbed by a crowd of fans?”

“Actually, I was looking for my celebrity patient, I heard she was down in here cozying up to some receptionists.”

“What can I say? I know where true power lies.”

“Indeed,” he grins,  “but I have a present for you.”

“And it’s not even my birthday.”

He peruses her curiously, “Do you even have a birthday?”

“Rude!”

“I prefer to call it research. Anyway, you have to forgive me because I’m here to give you a clean bill of health. Do you know what that means?”

“Hhhmmm, do I get a sticker?”

“Afraid not. You do, however, get to leave the hospital. If you’d like, that is.”

A grin steals across River’s face, “Trying to get rid of me already?”

“Of course not! You are my bread and butter. And my space yacht.”

“Stop it Doctor Reed, I’m blushing!”

******************************************

Mr. Lux comes to visit as she’s getting ready to leave. He almost misses her, catching her as she’s lacing up a pair of converse sneakers, snuck from the depths of the Tardis.

“Um,” he says, Looking at her in her jeans and long, flowy sweater, “you look very….” He trails off, gazing at her and her strange clothes quizzically.

“21st century, Mr. Lux, I look very 21 st century. You probably don’t want to ask why.”

He eyes flicker down to the vortex manipulator peeping out from under her sleeve, obviously recognizing it.

He shakes his head, and doesn’t ask.

*******************************************

As expected, all the coordinates her ‘date’ had given her lead to a different Clara echo, including Anthony’s wife. In her 50’s, Clarissa Williams is still lovely, a charming blend of the current 90s fashion and timeless class reminiscent of Clara herself. River watches her, with Anthony and a couple of their grown-up children, clustered in the stands as one of their sons graduates from San Francisco University in the field below them. Clarissa nudges Anthony with her shoulder and hands him a tissue, laughing as he wipes at his eyes with it.

She’ll be dead before the week is over.

Some freak accident in the park, and River remembers vaguely reading something about the Doctor being here, all curly brown hair and dimples and a beautiful cardiologist named Grace.

There’s nothing she can do for Clarissa Williams. The whole point of her life – to save the Doctor – is wrapped up there in that park with her death, somehow.

River doesn’t even want to know the details. She watches them, happy, and tries not to choke on the _unfairness_ of it all.

_What’s the point of them being happy now, if they’re going to be sad later?_

There’s nothing she can do for Clarissa Williams, or any of the other echoes, for that matter. What’s important, she reminds herself, as she sets her vortex manipulator, is that Anthony and Clara herself aren’t in any danger. Clara is relatively safe with the Doctor, and Anthony will be out of reach soon.

*************************

Saving the coordinates away carefully in her computer, River closes the file and looks around at her new surroundings.

To be safe, in case he decides to check her location, she makes her way back to the university library. At the very same table where she’d met Clara she slips the old cell phone out of her pocket. It fizzles for a moment, the shoddy quality of the time-relative chip she’d picked up for it off the black market making itself known as it struggles to identify both relative and self-linear time. Finally it settles, a long list of voice mails and missed calls filling the screen. There are a few straight from Clara’s cell phone, and far too many from the Tardis herself.

River lets her hand hover over the redial button for a few seconds.

_“Hi honey, I’m home.”_

She flips the phone closed, and slips it into the back pocket of her jeans. She makes her way to the bathroom, relieved to find it empty. In the mirror she studies her appearance through wide gray eyes, drawing in deep breaths through Rory’s long nose. She lets her hair down from it’s tight ponytail, and pulls her fingers through it, watching it fall like Amy’s around her face. Too much like Amy’s. She spins it up into a bun, tight on the top of her head, pulling a few bits free to fall in front of her face. She thinks, with a pang, that she isn’t the stunner she used to be, and he’s always had an eye for pretty women.

Which is how it should be.

_Tin dog,_ she thinks, slipping the mobile out of her pocket again,

_Mickey Smith, Rory Williams._

She stares determinedly at her reflection – _high, straight eyebrows and a narrow face, no more full, swirling circles --_  as she pushes the call back button and holds the phone to her ear. It rings, and rings, switching through silly songs from 9 different centuries before his ridiculous voice mail kicks in. She growls at the cheerful and thoroughly distracted recording of his voice.

“Honestly!” she snaps, when she can finally leave a message, “fill my mobile up with your voice mails begging for a call and don’t answer when I do! Who does th—“

“Hello!” She quite literally jumps when he abruptly cuts her off. He is also yelling, which makes it all the more shocking.

There’s an awkward moment of silence as she tries to remember what she’d planned to say.

“Doctor,” she finally manages, going for a flat tone,

_but maybe it’s breathless instead._

“Mo!” he crows back, sounding strangely and inappropriately excited, “Hello, Mo! That sort of rhymes…”

“It doesn’t.”

“I said ‘sort of’”

“Rhyming doesn’t work like that,” she grits her teeth, fixes her eyes on her face in the mirror, “Is Clara there?” she asks, shortly.

“Oh, well. No, actually. Wanted to talk to her, did you?”

“Why else would I call?” she snaps.

There’s another moment of strangely awkward silence, just the distant sound of his feet shifting on the Tardis floor.

“Yes, well, she’s not here right now. She has one of those job things now, you know.”

“I know,” River lies, kicking herself for not listening to a _ll_ the voicemails before calling. “Anyway, next time she’s with you then.”

“Yes, right, okay.”

“Well, bye then,” River says, quickly. He stops her before she can get the mobile far from her ear though.

“Wait, Mo.” She stops,

“What?”

“If you were calling Clara, why’d you call the Tardis?”

She freezes, then answers, already knowing it’s an excuse that won’t hold water, “because Clara called from the Tardis.”

“You could’ve called her mobile.”

She could’ve. Should have, because that would make sense. She didn’t though, and in the background she can here the soft sounds of the time rotor.

“Well I didn’t did I?” she snaps, defensive.

“No, you didn’t.”

“What’s it matter anyway? This was just the first number on my missed calls list,” it’s another weak excuse, and she winces.

 “Where are you now?” he asks, and her hearts do a funny little twist.

_Tin dog,_ she tells them.

“At school.”

“Oh good, learning. Learning is good,” he sounds distracted again, “When are you?”

“Eh? Come again?”

He sighs, “The date, Mo. Date and time, if you please.”

“Look, it’s not a good time for me, right now--”

“I don’t think you’re really grasping the _time machine_ concept here,” the Doctor grumbles.

“Timing really isn’t the issue here!”

“Than what is the issue?”

_“I’ve got exams, Doctor. The final sort of ones. Tomorrow.” River hugs her computer closer to her chest and lengthens her stride._

_It’s only the second time he’s been to see her, and the last was six months ago. They’d had to run from some spear-wielding alien aborigines and he’d grabbed her hand. She’d seen red and a moment later he was clutching his bleeding wrist, apologizing, of all things._

_“Sorry, sorry, you’re young yet!”_

_She’d just sort of stood there, the spear head stained red in her hand, staring._

_“What are you doing standing there? Come on, run!”_

_He’s tried to get her to help him wrap it, later on, safe in the Tardis._

_“I’m sure you can manage,” she’d snapped, spinning almost desperately around the console to get them back to her school. She’s hardly managed to say good bye as she’d flown back into her darkened dormitory room, slamming the Tardis door closed behind her._

_And here he was again._

_“Well, I’ve got a time machine. Now. That can have you back 5 minutes ago,” he says, stopping in front of her so fast she has to brace herself against his chest to keep from running in to him._

_“I need to focus,” she slips around him, through an arched doorway into the library. She sits down, flips on her computer to a set of electronic flashcards. He sits across from her, slowly, and she can feel his gaze on her._

_He snaps the computer out of her hands._

_“Hey!”_

_“The first Antarctic development project followed what natural disaster of the 25 th century?” he reads aloud, flips to the answer and says, scathingly, “wrong! Anyway, what do they want you to think the answer is?”_

_He spends the rest of the evening going through flashcards with her. He makes her laugh too. She doesn’t remember falling asleep when she’s woken the next morning by her alarm, but she’s in bed and there’s a 21 st century blue sticky note shaped like a hippo stuck to her headboard that says only, “Spoiler alert; you passed.”_

 “Look, just... call when you have Clara with you.”

“’Course I will,” he answers, and this time it’s his turn to sound defensive, “Why would I come see you without Clara, eh? No reason for that at all.”

She glares, angry in spite of herself, “Good!” she spits, and before the date and time can slip past her willpower, she hangs up.

She lets her hand holding the mobile fall to her side. In the mirror she watches the way her chest rises and falls rapidly, like she’s just been running.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, my thesis is coming up due in May so I'm scrambling a bit and writing a lot of way less interesting stuff.  
> I will keep updating, I promise! And after May updates will start coming much quicker, assuming we're not done with this story by then.  
> Thank you for the reviews and kudos!

The sun is high and bright through the city smog. The children too young to be solemn about death shift and giggle and make the metal chairs creak under their black cloth coverings.

It has not been a good day for River, but at least the woman standing beside the casket now will be the last tear-filled memorial of the day.

She is dabbing at her eyes with her free hand, and there is a toddler on her hip.

“When I was a little girl, I was so angry,” she pauses, tips her head back for a moment. “I didn’t know that people could be kind, so I wasn’t kind. I waited… for years, I waited and I was angry, for them to be unkind to me, for them to send me away,” finally her voice breaks and a fresh round of tears is wrung from the audience, “but it never happened. So, slowly, I learned how to be kind, and how to let people slip into my heart.”

“So….I will remember my dad – my real dad, because that’s what he was – when I tuck my children in bed at night”, her arm tightens around her little girl, “and when a stranger at the grocery store smiles at me. I will remember him when…. When I want to be angry, and choose to be kind instead. And that is how we say goodbye: we remember.”

River joins the applause as the young women joins one of the rows at the front. Her daughter starts to cry. Another family member, of the many overflowing the front rows, takes the little girl while her mother sobs into a tissue.

River stops recording quickly.

Closing comments are made, and the dark clothes and bright flowers gather close around the hole in the ground. River doesn’t. She lets herself slip to the back instead and wishes belatedly that she’d brought flowers.  

“Thank you,” she whispers instead.

She doesn’t have many memories to offer, just little-boy doodles on the margins of crinkled blue-ruled  paper and family pictures of three with tiny arrows in the middle and promises written on the edges, _this is your spot._

As the crowd drifts forward a still figure lingering at a distance catches her attention. She pauses, discreetly turning her head. There’s a man standing a short distance away in the shadows of a large tree. He’s watching them.

It could be nothing. He could be maintenance, or security. It isn’t worth the risk though.

Pretending to move with the crowd toward the burial, River slips around the back instead.

Approaching from behind, River can see that he’s standing with his arms folded, half-hidden from behind by a particularly large grave stone. River slips the recording device into her pocket and reaches  for the hilt of her blaster, hidden in the small of her back, intead.

“Excuse me,” she says, loudly.

The man starts, limbs akimbo in an all-to familiar way as he spins around.

“Who’s there?” he asks, “I’m the clean-up crew. Just waiting, you know, for everyone to clear out. Sure hope they haven’t made too much of a mess over there. Not that I mind messes, job security and all that—“ he cuts off abruptly as he peers around the interfering grave stones, “Mo?!”

“Doctor!”

“What the—what are you doing here, Mo?”

_Not good not good not good._

“This is New York, I live here. What are _you_ doing here, Doctor?”

“I, um, I told you – I’m the cleanup crew.”

“You’re not.” She says, flatly, “And you can’t have known Anthony Williams. He’d have mentioned it.”

“To you? Why? How do _you_ know Anthony Williams?”

_The best lies are laced with truth._

“He was my uncle.”

“What?!”

“My American uncle, remember? I mean, not my _biological_ uncle, obviously. He had a lot of people who were, you know, “family” in the non-traditional sense,” she waves her hand over the crowd gathered below, “as you can see.”

“Oh. Right. That’s…a fascinating coincidence.”

“Your turn, why are you at a funeral for someone you didn’t know?”

“I, um, I knew his parents.”

_“We’ve… talked about adopting. You know, someday.”_

_“Oh yeah, adopting what, exactly?” the Doctor asks, distracted by something tangled behind the panel in front of him._

_“A kid.”_

_“Oh that’s—hang on, a kid? As in, a little human sort?”_

_Amy rolls her eyes at him, lightly kicks his shin, “Obviously! If we do, you know you’ve both got to come around sometimes, take him or her to see stars and things.”_

_In the console room above where the three of them are clustered, Rory interrupts, his voice drifting down, “We’re still discussing that!”_

_River takes the little flashlight she’s holding over the doctor’s repair out of her teeth to say, “Of course we will”, even though she knows they won’t._

 “But you never met Uncle Anthony?” she asks.

“No, no, I never… got around to it.”

“Until now. Nice timing.”

The Doctor is quiet for a rare moment, looking at his toes.

“Well, seems he did alright for himself, anyway,” the Doctor says, waving at the large funeral crowd.

“Better than alright actually,” she walks over to stand next to him, watching the mourners lay their flowers down, “he was sort of a local hero.”

“No surprise there,” the Doctor says, fondly.

_“I waited for you. 2000 years.”_

They’re quiet for a moment, watching.

_(It occurs to her suddenly that she’d been feeling alone down there in the crowd of strangers.)_

The Doctor starts sneaking glances at her. River rolls her eyes, “What is it?” she asks.

“What’s what?”

 “Whatever it is you want to say.”

“Where are your flowers? Aren’t you supposed to bring flowers to these things?”

“I’m allergic.”

“Oh. Clara…she’s been calling you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Have you?”

“Yes!”

“Doing what?”

_Being pregnant._

“Real life things. You wouldn’t understand.”

_Toes dangling far above over the curve of the atmosphere he asks her, “Does it seem like home to you? Down there?”_

“Clara—“

“I’ll talk to Clara,” she cuts him off. “Anyway, random bumping into you. You’d think the universe would be large enough to prevent these kinds of things.”

“Usually it is,” he says, looking at her with that peering, measuring look. Any minute now he’ll be all up close again and--

“Anyway, good bye,” she says quickly, turning around and walking away from him swiftly across the too-green grass.

“Mo!” A few of the funeral attendees startle and look back curiously at her. Trying to ignore the Doctor behind her, River smiles weakly at them and keeps walking. He catches up quickly on those bandy legs of his, swinging around in front of her and stopping abruptly so she has to throw out her hands to keep from running into him. He catches her wrists before she can pull her hands away from the front of his shirt.

_“How are you doing that? I’m not really here.”_

“What now?” she hisses at him.

“Ssshhh,” he says, ridiculously, giving her wrists a little shake, “come with me.” He spins around, still holding one of her wrists and starts walking off.

“No!” she stage-whispers, leaning back against the pull.

“It’s important,” he insists, imploring.

“So is this!”

“it’s just about over anyway!”

“I am _not_ leaving my uncle’s funeral early because of you!” She jerks her wrist free, folding her arms between them.

“Listen, Mo,” his hands find her shoulders instead, “I didn’t just come for the funeral, see,”

“Oh really? What a shock.”

“Listen! There’s someone here who shouldn’t be.”

“I’d noticed.’

“Not _me!_ There are all these… time distortions.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It means there could be _big problems,_ Mo!”

“What came first?” she asks him, suddenly very annoyed, “Did you come for Anthony’s funeral or for this… time… thing?”

“Well…. Both. Funerals wrapping up now though. So… let’s find out about the other one, yeah?”

“No!”

“Is that the only thing you know how to say?!” he snaps at her, clearly losing patience.

“Clearly it isn’t a big deal for you, but _I’m_ here for Anthony’s funeral!”

“You know what? Fine, then! I won’t investigate it either. We can just go back there and be sad with everyone else, and then if one of those little children gets snatched up by The Big Problem on their way home after this, I guess that’s just not our problem today!”

“It’s that dangerous?”

“Don’t know, I’m much too busy mourning to investigate!” He throws his hands up in the air and starts to walk off.

“Doctor!” River hisses, chasing him down this time, “You’re such a _child!”_

_“…an ageless god who insists on the face of a 12 year old.”_

“Fine,” she says, grabbing onto his arm.

“ ‘fine’ what?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Fine I’ll help you with your stupid investigation!”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sssooo, I finished the first bit of my thesis and watched the Christmas Special to reward myself and OH MY GOSH IT WAS SO GOOD!!!!! And I feel like River doubting the Doctor loving her is officially canon now which is sad but I sort of love it because that's basically the whole premise for this story, so yay! And Clara.... she's a very neat character and she developed A LOT since I started writing this so I'm not sure how much I'll be able to incorporate but we'll see. Anyway, thank you for your patience and your encouragement in your reviews, you're wonderful and I'm sorry this is so short! Longer next time :)

 

There’s little actual “helping” to be done. The Doctor’s pulls out another of his hodge-podge contraptions that he claims is “reading something”, but is actually probably little more than prop for the Doctor to hide his own natural sensing abilities behind. They wander through the graveyard, and onto a city bus. The bus drops them off at a small, nearby hotel, and the Doctor follows his “readings” to an empty, recently cleaned room on the second floor. The Doctor claims it’s “full of suspicious time distortion readings”, and makes River help him move furniture around until a member of the hotel staff turns up and has them forcefully removed.

It’s all very familiar.

“You’re smiling,” the Doctor says, standing over her and gripping her seat back as the bus makes a turn.

“Am I?” she looks away from him, out the window, “Don’t see why I had to come with you. What’ve we actually accomplished that you couldn’t manage on your own?”

“You moved that television stand.”

“Granted. Moving furniture _is_ one of my many talent.”

He kicks her shiny black flat lightly with the toe of his boot, “your hair’s curly again.”

“I’m trying something new. People do that. Unlike you – do you ever change your clothes? Are you one of those blokes who just goes about doused in cologne rather than taking showers or doing the wash?”

She looks him up and down and shakes her head for effect.

“No! I mean, yes…. I mean I’m…clean! I’ve just got lots of the same things.”

“Sure you do.”

The bus stops back in front of the graveyard gates and the Doctor catches her under the elbow lightly, directing her down the aisle and off the bus. She shakes him off quickly, breathing in the fumes of the bus as it pulls away from the curb.

“So, what now?”

“We go back in,” he says, motioning at the gates in front of them.

“It’s getting dark.”

“Yes….”

“You want to go back into the cemetery _now?_ ”

“Yes….is that a problem?”

“It’s a graveyard, at night.”

“I know! So exciting!” his hand finds a place between her shoulder blades and he’s propelling her back through the gate and down the path.

In deepening shadows they pass where the funeral had been a few hours before. She’s trying not to look at the fresh pile of dirt marking the spot.

“I really don’t understand the point of all this,” she complains.

“Patience, Mo. Now listen; we’re going to hide in there,” he points to a foreboding sarcophagus a few rows away from Anthony’s fresh grave.

“Are we now?”

“Yes. Because they’re going to close the gates and kick everyone out, but we need to stay.”

“Of course we do,” River says, with a long sigh.

_“Love a tomb.”_

“Why? What’s the matter Mo?” The Doctor turns around dramatically with his screwdriver lit up and pointing up his chin, “Not scared of ghosts, are you? Mwhahaha!”

She rolls her eyes and brushes past him, heading for the creepy tomb, “No but you should be,” she mutters under her breath.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last chapter was SO short and you've been waiting SO long, so here's another chapter :)

The damp of the stone floor seeps through River’s skirt and stockings. She’s not terribly cold, but it isn’t exactly pleasant either.

“How long’s this going to take?” she whispers. The stone walls are much too thick for anyone to hear, but he shushes her anyway from his position in front of one of the tiny, thick-paned windows.

“At least tell me what we’re waiting for,” she says, not even bothering to whisper anymore.

“A person, I think.”

“What sort of person?”

“The suspicious sort. That hotel room we were in today, the person who stayed there, I think he’s going to come here.”

She frowns, “Why?”

“Long story. Someone’s been following Clara around.”

“What’s that got to do with Anthony? They don’t know each other…”

“The person following Clara’s a time traveler. I followed him here. I have a theory, you see.” He abandons his post to sit beside her, clasping his hands, “What’s the one thing Anthony Williams and Clara Oswald have in common?”

“They’re both wonderful people?”

“No! Well, yes, ok… probably. But no, I was thinking me—

“Of course you were,” River cuts in.

“--They’ve got me in common.”

“You said you’d never met him….”

“But I knew his parents, and no one can get to his parents now so if someone is tracking down people who know me he’s the next best thing within a ten year radius.”

“But Anthony is dead.”

“I know. Funny that. Anyway, I’m fairly sure he hasn’t left this time yet, so if he really is tracking Anthony, he’s got to turn up here at some point.”

Which would be very, very bad.

“At least dead people don’t wander off, right?” he tries to joke, because he’s an idiot with absolutely no social awareness.

“You’re a terrible person,” she snaps, “And you lied about the time distortions or whatever.”

“It wasn’t a lie! That person is causing the time distortions.”

“You were deliberately misleading!” she hisses, turning to face him in the dark.

“You weren’t going to come with me!”

“Exactly!”

“Why not—“

He stops abruptly, and she can feel him looking at her better than she can see.

“You too.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not just me Anthony and Clara have in common,” he says slowly, “It’s you too.”

“So what’s you point? I should be looking out for a stalker too?”

“Maybe…maybe he’s not following the Ponds. Maybe he’s following you….because of me? No, no I’m missing something…”

He stands abruptly, hands in his hair, and then he freezes.

“I was right,” he says.

River stands quickly, crowding behind him at the window, “What is it?”

He moves aside a fraction and she manages to peer through the tiny space he’s cleared of dust.

Someone’s moving through the shadows.

_Not good._

Lights blink softly, and she suddenly knows exactly who’s over there, scanning Anthony’s grave.

“Looks like he’s not here for you after all,” the Doctor says.

She’s halfway to the door when she remembers that she can’t risk being recognized.

It’s a novel feeling, with this new face, but she pushes it aside and reaches for her mobile.

“Who are you calling?” the Doctor asks.

“The police.”

“What?! Why are you doing that??”

“Because someone’s bothering my uncle’s grave, obviously.” A carefully modulated voice asks her to state her emergency, “Yes, I’d like to report a break in at the cemetery. I’m…” she glances at the Doctor, “with the maintenance crew.”

When she hangs up the Doctor is quick to demand, “Why would you do that? In case you hadn’t noticed, _we’ve_ broken in too!”

The problem is, she thinks, the police won’t arrive in time. She glances out at those ominously blinking lights. It might already be too late.

“Listen, I think you need to pretend to be the clean-up crew again. Go chase that guy off,” she grabs his arm and starts walking toward the door.

He’s a Time Lord and they’re Time Lord hunters, and that’s a problem. But for just a few minutes… it’s the least bad option.

“That’s not the plan!” He argues.

“Your plan is stupid. We’ve done practically nothing all day. Would you _please_ just go chase whoever that is off?”

He pulls out of her grasp and crosses his arms, “What’s it matter anyway? Anthony’s dead already.”

“Once again, you’re a terrible person, do you know that? Whatever, I’ll do it myself.”

Her hand is on the door when he grabs it away, brushing past her and heaving the heavy stone aside a crack to slip through. She watches him hopefully and a minute later she hears him say, “You there! What are you up to?”

The lights stop. She can’t hear the rest of the conversation, so she slips her own stolen sonic out, pointing it toward the shadowy shapes of the stranger and the Doctor. Sure enough, the readings come back 48th century.

The Time Lord hunters are still following Anthony.

From the direction of the front gate River hears the sound of sirens and red and blue lights appear soon through the trees. River waits, watching the lights and the people silhouetted intermittently in front of them until finally the Doctor appears, pulling her out of the tomb and pushing the door closed behind her.

“Let’s go,” he says, “before they realize I’m a fake.”

River digs her heels in, “The stranger?” she asks.

“The police are escorting him out. Come on.”

And they’re running again.

The grass is damp and it soaks into River’s stockings and down into her shoes. She’d had the good sense to keep her hand out of his this time but their feet keep time together anyway past lines of still stones and (luckily) still angels. There’s a smaller gate around the back of the property where the Doctor must have come in through earlier. He sonics the lock and they slip out onto a quiet side-street. A cluster of teenagers brandishing spray can say some unseemly words at the sudden appearance of two damp, darkly clothed figures charging out the backdoor of a graveyard. They take off down the street at a run and the Doctor calls after them,

“That’s right!” tugging at his suspenders, “Grandad’s ghost sees all!”

River looks up at him and the Doctor grins down at her and he’d done what she asked and they’d run through a graveyard and he’s always been so _funny_ and suddenly she’s laughing and he’s laughing too.

“Who’s ghost should you be then?” he asks, catching his breath.

“Someone amazing, I’m sure.” She looks away quickly, “Where’d you park?”

“’Round the corner that way,” he waves a noncommittal hand off to their left, “There’s a shop on the way. Tea first?”

“Doctor, it’s nearly the middle of the night. In _America._ ”

“No tea then? Well, the Tardis has tea. Always.” He extends his elbow to her all gallant-like and it reminds her of the coat with the tails

_“he’s taking me to see the singing tour of Darillium.”_

“Alright.”

Predictably, he’s parked at the back of an alley. Halfway down it and in front of a dumpster River changes her mind about tea on the Tardies.

It had been hard enough to leave the last time.

“You know,” she untangles her arm from his, turning away from the blue box quickly, “I’m awfully tired all the sudden. Maybe tea another time.” She walks past him quickly but he catches her shoulder.

“Mo.”

“Yes?”

“I…there was a thing I wanted to say.”

“You can’t say it now?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers moving ever so slightly against her shoulder, and then, “I’m sorry. About your uncle. I’m sorry that… he’s gone.”

Her hand finds his on her shoulder, “Thanks, Doctor.”

“Are you sure you didn’t…. his parents. Did you ever meet his parents?”

_He introduces her to her mother like Amy is his and all she can do is laugh like she always does._

_It’s a pointless fight anyway, who can tell who knew her first or longest at this point?_

_(Or who she loves most)_

_(Except it was River she pointed the gun at that day. Not the Doctor. Never the Doctor)_

She pushes his hand away, “No, I didn’t. I read his Mum’s books though. They were lovely.”

“All of them?”

_Of  course._

“No, just a few. The children’s books, mostly.”

“Did you know she wrote those about her daughter?””

_“You named your daughter….after your daughter.”_

_“That’s_ _Melody?”_

“They didn’t have a daughter.”

“They did,” he says, “She was amazing.”

_“I point and laugh at archaeologists.”_

“Was?”

“Yes. They’re all gone now, I suppose. No more Ponds.”

“What do ponds have to do with anything?” she shakes her head, pulling away from him quickly, “You’re not making sense. I need to go now.”

His head is down, she can’t quite make out his face in the dark and it’s sad, it draws her in

_Like a moth to a flame_

And she taps on his chest as she says, “Next time you need furniture moved though you’re going to have to call someone else. Or pay me. A lot.” He smiles at that, and it’s warm enough that she can step back again.

“Goodbye Doctor”

“Bye Mo.”

She almost out of the alley when he calls after her, “What’s ‘Mo’ short for anyway?”

She turns around and without missing a beat shoots back, “Morgan!” with a last wave goodbye.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go ;)

 

Outside the alley the little shop – which is actually a bar and almost certainly does not sell tea – is open and the light from the window falls in a square on the sidewalk. She hurries past it, because

_“and a last time” she whispers to his back and the sound of being left alone, and he won’t see the way her heart is breaking and she wonders when it was the last time for him and if she smiled like a sunrise the way he had as her world was ending._

She ducks down another street, _head down, winding through the dark streets like she’s being chased,_ intent on making her way back to the cemetery, just to be sure. New York at night could be 1969 for all it’s changed and in spite of all the years and faces that have passed the dark corners still make her edgy. So when she collides directly and unexpectedly with a person, her first instinct is to take two perfectly measured steps back into firing range and level a gun at his chest.  

He doesn’t even blink _but then he’s used to guns at his hearts by now_ , “Doctor!”

_Mo wouldn’t have a gun._

“What are you—you just left!”

He steps forward, right into the muzzle of her gun like a fool.

“Listen,” she drops it, mind spinning for excuses “Sorry, this is fake.”

“Is it?” his voice is strange.

“Yeah. You know how America is. I keep it around to scare people off.”

“Does it work?”

“Well, you’re still here.”

He takes another step, filling in the space and he does that often enough but the way he’s looking at her—

_“That’s space in the sixties”_

“Why’d you come back?” she asks quickly, taking a step back in spite of herself, “Forget something?”

He’s quiet. Too quiet like he hardly ever is, looking at her and she notices – she always notices – that his hands are clenched and shaking lightly around the white of his knuckles. He’s so close now she can smell him and he smells wrongs, not like he had in the alley -- old damp stone and excitement. Now he smells like ozone, sadness, pounding heartbeats and….

_Old books._

Her eyes go wide and her finger tighten around the gun again, meeting his gaze and stepping back quickly now.

He stops her, hand closing around her hand around her gun.

_“The Doctor is dangerous.” Hands around her hands around cold metal until her skin grows cold too._

“Doctor?”

“Why?” He asks and he sounds like

_Anger._

_“Where were you today?”_

_Desperation._

_“Come along, Pond, please!”_

_He knows. He knows and she can’t_ breathe.

The baby wakes up. He’s so big now it isn’t just a feeling tickling the back of her mind, it’s a tiny foot pressing into her spine. Awake is fine. Or, rather it was fine until she feels him uncurl toward

_She is drowning. But she can’t be because there are tubes down into her lungs, pumping air, in and out and glass thick as starlight between her and the water. But it presses in anyway, heavy and dark, and this must be drowning. This must be what it is to drown, so she closes her eyes as her fingers tighten around the trigger, close them tight to keep out the water and the bright desert sun and the way the light flashes._

He is reaching for her. Responding. Too little to have memories but the _dying, saving, living_ he remembers.

It shouldn’t be happening. It _can’t._

She breaks the Doctor’s grip but he catches her gaze again, a thousand answers and lies on her tongue that don’t make sense suddenly.

Bile rises at the back of her throat.

She’d been so _sure_.

_All yours, Sweetie._

Two steps back, three, and he doesn’t try to follow until he sees that she’s got her vortex manipulator out from under her sleeve.

_Run run run, always run when you’re scared the spacemen will eat you he’ll eat you under the lake._

_Tiny heartbeats, picking up pace to run in the only way he knows how._

Finally he reaches for her, mouth opening to say something but if she lets him talk they both know how that always ends

_“Stay with me then.”_

_But it isn’t her he really wants now. No, it’s the shadow he wants, the reminder of the girl outside who chose her husband instead._

_Whenever and wherever you like, she says, and she leaves because sunsets burn your eyes when you look too long._

She doesn’t hear him say her name but she sees it on his mouth and in the way his hand is reaching in the split second before she snaps away.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've finished grad school! I got to graduate in the UK and made it to the Doctor Who Experience while I was there and it was really, really cool and now I have time and mental space to write more so, yay!! Thank you for your patience, and for enjoying this :)

The hospital is serene and white and it’s the middle of the day so it’s all blinding after the dark of the New York night behind her.

_Burning._

She’s trying to be calm, trying to remember gentle, quiet moments and _safe_ but the scent of dust and old books sticks in her lungs and his hand on her hand and she’s still holding her gun.

Through the doors and her friend the receptionist comes running around his desk this time.

“Professor Song!” he looks between her and the gun in her hand,

_Oh, that’s why all the yelling. She thought it was just in her head._

“Are you alright? Professor Song?”

“No. No I don’t think so.”

Her hand is shaking. She drops the gun and Lenjy the receptionist loops an arm under her shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll call the doctor.”

_He won’t come. Or he will. Which is worse River, what do you want?_

He’s taking her in and all the waiting people are staring but that doesn’t matter because she has to tell him _safe now_

_“Ssshh, Melody, it’s okay” she’s saying, soft and warm but her voice is shaking because it isn’t ok and she’s in an alley and the kind man is being kind – safe now, kind is safe-- but it isn’t okay because she’s dyingdyingdying he’s dying and she won’t let him because the song in the blue box that feels like home that says he shouldneeds to hemust live, Melody, so she breathes out living and it feels a little like dying._

_No!_

Doctor Reed is holding her face in his hands, “River!”

He never calls her that,

“River, what happened? Why isn’t it working?”

“I don’t know,” she gasps, “I don’t know but he’s—“

_“My youngest died too, so I raised her daughter. But then when they told me she was sick too… so I didn’t tell her, just stole us and the old blue box away, you see. Because I was scared, River.”_

She tries to remember Anthony and his blue door, but her mind drifts to the pictures on his walls, to Rory’s, to Rory the centurion outside her prison door.

_“They have Amy. Amy and the baby, River. Please.”_

_Not one line._

“River! River, look at me, look, you need to calm down.”

She tries, he’s Doctor Reed and he kissed her forehead once but…

The muscles in her stomach contract painfully, and that’s new and Doctor Reed is yelling “contraction” and “out now” and he’s telling her, “River! River we’re going to have to-“

“Anthony,” she says, “I need Anthony.”

“He’s coming, River, listen,” Doctor Reed is saying, “You’re going to go to sleep and _everything will be fine.”_

 

_On the last evening of his life, Anthony sets the dust rag down on the coffee table next to neatly-piled magazines and stands still in his living room. River watches him from her seat on the stairs. She’d stopped trying to help an hour ago._

_It’s the time of day when the shadows are long and the traffic outside is dying down and the half-open blinds leave patterned shadows on the rug. In the kitchen the clean dishes are drying next to the sink, the powered-down computer up in the office has all his files carefully arranged and the keys to his car and his mailbox and the fireproof safe are all laid out carefully on the table by the door next to the family photos._

_“Anthony,” she says, softly, her breath stirring dust motes, “You don’t have to leave it all, you know. No one is going to notice if you take a few photos… maybe… maybe one of those drawings from your kids or something?”_

_He shakes his head, slowly, “No, no I should leave all of that. That’s how it’s supposed to be.  All of this stays with the living.” His voice catches on the last word and her heart breaks a little._

_“I’m so sorry, Anthony. It doesn’t have to be this way… you don’t have to come with me…”_

_“Of course, I could stay here and die tomorrow as I’m meant to,” he smiles, gently, “Do you really think that’s a more appealing choice than going away to the future with you?”_

_“I’m sorry…. Should I not have told you?”_

_“Stop apologizing,” he stretches his arms out toward her, “Come over here.”_

_Standing up, River makes her way down the stairs and into his arms. She’s being selfish. She’s stealing him away from both his life before and his death to keep him with her._

_“Thank you,” she says against his shoulder, “I know leaving all of this is like dying anyway… but” she squeezes her eyes shut and whispers, “I’m scared. So thank you.”_

_“Everyone is,” he whispers back, “New life is always scary. And wonderful. And there’s always a little bit of dying in it, but it’s worth it.” His arms tighten, “We’re going to be fine, Melody.”_


	29. Chapter 29

 

Like most hospital rooms, it hasn’t changed at all, so for a moment, when she’s opened her eyes but before she’s breathed in, River wonders if she’s just left the library, and maybe it was all dreams and memories and just that. The air is different from before though, and she tastes it on the inhale, full and bright.

She rolls to her side, letting the world come into focus around a familiar, worn green jacket draped over the back of the chair beside her bed.

_She grins at the stares, clasping his arm a bit tighter and feeling lighter then she’s felt in a very long time, “You really stand out, Anthony. Should we go buy you some new clothes? Blend into your new environment a bit?”_

_Anthony zips his green jacket up around his chin and pushes his Yankees baseball cap further down over his eyes with his free hand, “Absolutely not, all these people look ridiculous. What’s that guy over there wearing anyway?”_

_“That’s a very popular style right now.”_

_“He looks like a turnip.”_

She smiles and says his name softly, “Anthony.”

“Melody!” his voice is hushed from the other side of the room, “You’re awake.”

She turns her head and he’s framed against the window and the light. He isn’t alone.

_“It was like the world stopped turning,” Amy slurs._

_“That doesn’t - you weren’t even on a planet,” Rory points out, equally sloshed over their wine glasses._

_“Shut up, stupid, I’m trying to describe a feeling.”_

Anthony is smiling at her, she knows, and she loves him and he’s important but he’s holding someone and there’s just one tiny hand she can see, escaping from the blue blanket they’ve wrapped him in and it’s _everything._

_“Anyway,” Amy continues, “The point is, I didn’t know you could love someone like that. All of a sudden like. I mean, I never even liked babies but then it was you and….”_

“Is he—“ she can’t finish. She remembers the panic and the heartbeats and the medicine had stopped working…

“Yes, he’s fine, Melody. Look.”

Anthony crosses to her bed, sits down beside her with his arms tilted so she can _see._

The universe stops on a gasp, holding it’s breath because--

“Oh,” she whispers.

_Amy leans her long arms out over the table, knocking a wine glass to the ground with a loud clatter, “I thought I could hold you like that forever…..Even when you cried….even though it was super annoying.”_

“Here,” Anthony says, “Hold him.”

“How?” she whispers.

“Put your arms like this,” she does and he passes her the baby and he’s warm, warm and solid and tiny and the biggest thing in the universe all at once.

_“The most important things are usually the smallest things,” The old man says, leaning across the desk, eyes sparkling under eyebrows like mountain slopes._

_“Are they?”_

_“Yes. Do you know why?”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because that means they’ve got more space for the big things on the inside.”_

It is either ten seconds or a hundred years later when she reverently brushes her hand over soft red curls.

“Hello,” she whispers.

His eyes open, fixate on her face or maybe the brightness of her hair.

_“Everything changes!” She declares past the buzzing, pounding in her head to the unfamiliar pair of eyes in the mirror.”_

He is too small, too perfect and too _safe_ for words.

She is crying. Sobbing really and he looks up at her with his small, serious face like he _knows_.

 “You did it, Rory,” she whispers as the universe exhales in a gasp and goes back to its spinning, “You saved us _._ ”

There will be no spacemen.

No monsters in the shadows.

No orphanages or cold streets.

Rory Song will be safe and he will be loved.

_“What took you so long?”_

“Welcome home, my love.”

 

_In the end, Anthony does bring a handful of pictures, wrapped up in a leftover ‘Happy Birthday’ napkin from a granddaughter’s birthday party. He sets the little package down carefully on the kitchen counter in their new house as she lets them in the back door._

_He stops, curiously examining the unfamiliar appliances, “I figured food would just sort of…appear. Like on Star Trek.”_

_“It does. Sometimes.”_

_“Is that not an oven?”_

_River shrugs, “I like vintage things.”_

_“Well I fit right in then.”_

_“That’s the idea.”_

_River follows him into the living room, watches him find the photos on the walls; the one of him and their parents on the beach they’d sent her a long time ago, next to one of Melz Zucker, also with their parents, on a swing set._

_“This… “ he turns and smiles at her, “Feels like home.”_


	30. Chapter 30

“Professor Song,” Doctor Reed floats into the room, practically oozing satisfaction,” I hear you’ve met my new favorite patient.”

River smiles at him as he comes to sit beside her, perched on the edge of her bed the way he does, poised between intimacy and formality.

“You’ve replaced me already?” she asks.

“Can you blame me?”

River laughs, adjusting Rory’s bottle and smiling down at his tiny, sleepy face, “Not at all. He’s my favorite too.”

“Yes, the baby is darling, but I was actually talking about your brother.”

“Anthony?” She’d only seen them interact briefly before leaving for the funeral, and if anything they’d seemed a bit awkward together, “you’ve just missed him.”

“I’ve just seen him in the hall, actually.”

“And what’s he done to endear himself to you so entirely?”

“Gratefulness. I gave him over-the-counter medicine for a simple cardiac issue and he acted like I’d saved his life. Smiles _every time_ he sees me. If only all my patients could be so easily appeased,” leaning over he catches one of Rory’s little fists, “Instead they throw life-threatening fits for no reason. And urinate on me as soon as I’ve brought them into the world.”

“Did he really?”

“Oh yes. Got him out, said to my assistant, ‘Look at that, we’ve done it,’ and there it was, all down the front of my shirt.”

“Rory, that’s not the way to start your life.” Rory blinks up at her, slowly, and yawns around the bottle. “Anyway, where Anthony’s from, that ‘simple cardiac issue’ is practically a death sentence. You really did save his life.”

“A drug store clerk could’ve done the same. And don’t tell me any more about where Anthony is from. I’d rather not know, thanks.”

“ _Where_ he’s from isn’t really the problem, if we’re being specific.”

“Sshh, I don’t want to know about your crimes against the timeline of the universe, professor Song, thinking about it makes me nauseous.”

“The timeline of the universe is fine, I’m a professional.”

He raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Changing the subject now. So, what happened? Why’d my genius medicinal breakthrough stop working?”

“Well, I was at Anthony’s funeral in 21st century New York—“

“Ok! No, thank you, never mind that too, I don’t need to know. You’re fine now anyway, did I mention?”

“Are you sure? You haven’t asked me how I’m feeling yet.”

“Alright then, how are you feeling, Professor Song?”

_He opens the door and almost immediately she knows where they are._

_“You said we were going on an adventure.”_

_“This is an adventure.”_

_“I don’t…. can we go somewhere else? Please?”_

_The Doctor frowns and looks awkward for a moment, lingering in the doorway until Amy rushes in the way she does – like a fire._

_“Melody!” she says, then looks at the Doctor, “Are you sure you got the right one?”_

_“Yes, yes, plucked her right up out of her dormitory bed, didn’t I, Melody?”_

_“Um, yes you did.”_

_“Perfect!” Amy declares. She crosses the console room and without the slightest hesitation wraps her long arms around Melody and hugs her close, rocking slightly like she has since they were small._

The door slides open and Anthony walks in, holding a bag, “A machine that dispenses custom-made sandwiches, Melody!” He declares, grinning.

River smiles at Doctor Reed and holds her son a little closer, “Absolutely wonderful, actually.”


	31. Domestic Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a three year gap between the last chapter and the next. It's a bit of a long gap to have in a story, and I felt like there needed to be something to mark it, so here is a slice-of-life from the gap:

 

 

Interlude

“Maybe this is a bad idea.”

Anthony looks up from Rory and the bottle in his arms, “Melody, just yesterday you were over the moon about teaching again. And anyway, you can’t back out – “ he looks down at his watch – “an hour before your class starts.”

“Sure I can. Time travel.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Who told you that?”

“You did.”

“Suppose it must be true then,” River sighs, running her palms down the taut fabric of her skirt.

Crossing the room she sits down next to Anthony on the couch, peering down into Rory’s dropping eyelids.

“Four hours just seems like it’s going to be such a long time.”

“It’ll get easier after the first day. And at least it’s just four hours – when I went back the first time after baby number one, it was back to ten hour shifts at the hospital. Felt like an eternity. And we didn’t have cell phones or anything, and just the one car, so Clarissa and the baby were stuck at home when the fire—“

He stops himself abruptly when he notices the look of growing horror on River’s face, hastily finishing, “There were no problems. The end.”

“I should stay home.”

“You should go. Look, we both know I’m a pro at this, and if there’s anything I can’t handle I can call you and you can be here in five minutes.”

River pulls up the flowy sleeve of her top, revealing her vortex manipulator, “Less.”

“There’s no way it can be healthy to wear that around all day.”

With a sigh River rests her head on his shoulder, gently brushing her fingers over red curls. Rory wakes up, his face twisting as he begins to make funny snuffling noises of discontent.

“Uh oh,” Anthony says, hurrying to try to console him. Despite his efforts, the snuffling crescendos into a wail.

“You know,” River says over the high-pitched shriek, standing slowly, “Maybe I should go back to work.”

 


	32. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

_Three Years Later_

“Mummy, Rory come too,”

River sighs, meeting narrowed eyes and a stuck-out lip in the mirror, “please,” he finishes, convincingly.

“You wouldn’t like it, love, mummy’s parties are very, very boring.”

Rory frowns and climbs into her lap, jostling her arm so that her lipstick slides up her cheek.

With a sigh River presses her forehead to his curls, and reaches for a cloth to fix it.

“Besides, you’re going to have lots of fun with Uncle Tony and Doctor Reed.”

“Mummy come too?” he implores, fiddling with the diamond around her neck.

“Mummy is going to the boring party with Mister Lux”

River reminds him, re-applying her lipstick.

“Misser Lux,” Rory echoes, then frowns, “No.”

“ _Yes.”_ River insists, capping her lipstick carefully and wrapping her arms around him tight, “Mummy is going to the boring party with Mister Lux and Rory is going to have fun at the cinema with Uncle Tony and Doctor Reed, and when Mummy comes home she’s going to grab Rory’s and go like _this….”_

Holding him tight she plants loud, smacking pink kisses all over his face until he’s giggling and squirming.

_Anthony tells her, one night when she’s tired and worn down and more convinced than ever that a woman raised by killers and a crazed orphanage keeper could never raise a child properly, that love comes naturally to her._

_“I hear you,” he tells her, bracingly gentle, “Rory will too. He already does.”_

“There you are,” Anthony says, from the doorway of the bedroom, “Rory, where are your shoes? We were getting your shoes, remember?”

“Shoes,” Rory echoes, wrinkling his nose, the glow of the cosmetic lamp on the vanity calling his freckles into stark relief against his pale face, “No.”

He’s in a shoe hating phase; always pulling them off or forgoing them altogether. Anthony tells her it’s temporary, and someday he’ll be a normal, shoe wearing child. River knows his father though, and has her doubts about Rory’s future wardrobe choices ever being normal.

_"What in the name of sanity have you got on your head?"_

_“I wear a fez now."_

“Yes, shoes,” River tells him, “What about those new ones with the little lights – you like those.”

“Bling bling shoes,” Rory says, nodding seriously. “I get them,” he announces, scrambling off her lap and slipping past Anthony at the door.

Anthony smiles at her in the mirror, arms crossed as he leans against the doorjamb.

The years have fallen from his face, modern medicine sweeping the effects of aging into some forgotten corner, not to be pulled out again for a good long while, River hopes.

“He’s going to want to carry them rather than put them on his feet, you know,” Anthony says.

“Well, it’s a start. That was two more ‘no’s just now, what’s that bring our count for the day to?”

“Uh…. I believe that’s fifty-seven.”

“Lovely, looks like we’ll beat yesterday’s score afterall.”

“Told you so. I hope you’ve picked out a recipe for dinner tomorrow night because you are going to lose that bet.”

The door chimes go off, and Mr. Lux’s voice sounds through the front door comm system asking for her.

“Your date is here,” Anthony says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Be still me fluttering heart,” River responds, flatly. She’s Mr. Lux’s stand by date to functions these days – renowned enough to justify her presence on his arm in his social circles but thoroughly uninterested in having anything more with him, which suits him very well. River had discovered, to her surprise, that Angelina had and continued to hold stake in his heart.  Surprisingly, he’s not bad company either, and after everything he’s done for them, accompanying him to social events is a small price to pay.

“I’ll just let him in,” Anthony says, “you look lovely, by the way.”

River goes back to the mirror, pinning back a few strands of hair escaping from her simple up-do.

She’s always liked dressing up, anyway, especially with someone else paying for it.

Smoothing her dress as she stands River smiles at herself in the mirror. She’s gotten used to it, this new face, over the years, learning what to wear, how to shape her hair and how to walk. It’s the face that’s Rory’s mum, so she really can’t help but love it.

Downstairs Mr. Lux is chatting with Anthony in the entryway, holding his customary flowers in one hand and Rory on his hip in the other.

“Hello,” he smiles at her as she joins them and kisses her on the cheek, “You look lovely, as always.”

“Thank you,” River says, relieving him of both Rory and the flowers.

“Come on now, Love, Mummy and Mister Lux need to get going.”

Abandoning Mister Lux, Rory wraps his arms around her neck in a tiny bear hug and declares his displeasure, “no!”

“fifty-eight,” Anthony says.

“Yes,” River insists, kissing his head and passing him, struggling, to Anthony, “I love you and I’ll see you tonight, and wear your bling bling shoes.”

“No!”

“fifty-nine.”

“Yes. I love you.” One last kiss earns her a sullen, “Wuv Mummy too,” around a pout and crossed arms, but he waves with Anthony from the doorway as she climbs into Mr. Lux’s fancy car.

"Rory is very…. three years old tonight,” he says as the car pulls away from the curb.

“Anthony tells me it’s a phase.”

“Aha. And what are bling bling shoes, anyway?”

“They light up when he walks. I’ve got a pair too, in fact I’m wearing them tonight,” she teases.

“Oh good, I’ve been meaning to subtly imply that you don’t make enough of an impression on people when we walk into parties together. I’m sure the shoes will help.”

 

As usual, Mr. Lux’s party is lavish and stuffed full or people with large egos and matching jewelry. The academics, as usual, try to claim River. The Luna university alumni and professorship types in particular bury their resentment over her current residency at a smaller and less prestigious university (planet-side, because no matter how efficient moon-to-surface commuting is these days, River wants her feet on the same ground as her baby, thank you very much) to make very public and academic-sounding conversation with her. 

It’s incredibly dull, so when a famous athlete of some sort (was it roller-ball or cage-running he’s famous for? She should get his signature for Anthony anyway, just in case it’s roller-ball) breaks into the circle of drab-dressed academics to ask her for a dance, River is more than happy to join him and his well-defined forearms in the press of swirling couples.

He’s charming in a slightly vacant way (smash ball for sure then – the players always end up a little addled) and a cluster of haughty actresses and models in the corner are glaring murder at her, so River moves in a little closer, winking in their direction over his broad shoulder and slipping easily into a second song with him.

She hears the bright, tinkling laugh first, and quickly quiets the dropping sensation in the pit of her stomach with the thought that someone in the room only laughs like Clara. When she catches a glimpse of a pert nose and done-up dark hair a moment later, River comforts herself with the thought that the girl could be an echo River had missed in her research. However, on the tail end of a slow spin with her partner, River sees familiar coat tails joining Clara by the snack table and

_“Fancy running into you here, Professor Song.”_

_“Indeed,” River smiles, letting him pull her into the dancing couples, “Whatever could I be doing at a charity event for my own university?”_

_“Stealing something?”_

_Leaning into him River lets him get a good look at what her pretty dress isn’t covering and whispers in his ear, “If you’re very lucky.”_

“Professor Song, are you alright?”

River blinks up at her partner, _Camden? Carmen?_ “Yes, just fine, sorry, felt a little dizzy there for a moment.”

He pulls her in close again and promises no more spinning. River keeps them angled so that her back is to the Clara and the Doctor, their presence like an itch between her shoulder blades she doesn’t dare reach for.

_She can tell he’s been here, in the very house, the very room, the very air Mels breathes in deep. Her hearts quicken, fingers twitching, and weight shifting to her toes at the thought. Amy dances around her talking about ducks and ponds and Mels makes a list in her head of everything in the room she could make into a weapon._

When the dance ends, River weaves carefully through the couples toward where Mr. Lux is engaged in conversation with two politicians and a CEO.

Pulling him aside she whispers, “Who do I need to talk to here to have someone kicked out?”

Mr. Lux frowns, “Is this going to turn into another robbery attempt?”

“ _No,_ and that was _not_ a robbery, it was _fixing_ a robbery and restoring an important cultural artifact to the culture it came from!”

“Regardless, it cost me a large business deal.”

“Like you can’t afford it.”

“True,” Mr. Lux agrees with a shrug, “I just like to remind you.”

“You’re a dear. I really need to have these people removed though….”

“Why?”

River considers him for a moment, then tells him, honestly, “The Doctor is here.”

Mr Lux’s eyes widen and he peers over her shoulder at the crowded, glittering room, “Oh. I didn’t notice… I suppose it’s been a while though, hasn’t it? Still, I would’ve thought I’d have noticed….”

She shakes her head, “You wouldn’t recognize him. And I can’t explain, I just need him to not see me and to not be here.”

“Alright, I suppose I can have a word with the host. What does he look like?”

River describes him, and Clara, and Mr. Lux winds through the crowd toward wherever the host is. River breathes a sigh of relief, slipping toward the toilet to hide out for a few minutes until security escorts the Doctor and Clara out.

In the loo River calls Anthony while she touches up her lipstick.

“We’re fine,” he tells her, “movie just let out and we’re on our way home now, I think it went well but here’s Taryn….”

He passes the computer to Doctor Reed, and a moment later it’s his face on the screen, the scene behind him changing as he moves away from Anthony and Rory.

“So? How’d he do?” River asks, impatiently.

“As far as I can tell, perfectly fine. His heart rates were within normal range throughout and now he’s having a very normal three-year-old, end-of-the-day meltdown,” he smiles at her, warm and fond, “Nothing to be alarmed about. Mind, I’ve still got to run some lab tests tomorrow—“

River hears the door open behind her, filing the noise away as inconsequential until… she slams the computer off, cutting Doctor Reed’s sentence short at the sight of Clara’s reflection in the mirror. River drops her eyes and her face, hunching over the sink as if entirely enthralled with the act of washing her hands. She breathes out a sigh of relief as Clara passes into a stall behind her. Quickly shutting off the water River turns to leave and finds herself face-to-face with inquisitive brown eyes instead. Clara’s turned around, poking her head out of a bathroom stall, “Mo?” 


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Fixing a pleasant but confused smile on her face River says, “I’m sorry?”

“You…. You’re Mo, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry but I’m not sure who you mean…”

“Mo…. My friend Mo….”

“I’m certain we’ve never met, miss. Have you been drinking?” River reaches into her little bag for a bottle of pills, “Happens to all of us, but would you like a sober-up?” she asks, offering the bottle to Clara.

“I…. no, thank you. Sorry, it’s just…. You look like her,” Clara frowns, studying her face, “ _A lot_ like her.”

“Right then, sorry to disappoint.” Turning away River hurries out of the toilet, looking around for Mr. Lux. She catches his eye across the crowd and he nods, with a self-satisfied smile, in the direction of a very upset gentleman in coat tails and a middle-aged brunette woman being escorted out by security.

River rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head, watching his look of self-satisfaction fade.

She can’t even risk approaching him now, in case the Doctor recognizes Mr. Lux. The curator of the museum hosting the event is off to the side chatting up an actress. River heads in his direction, mind spinning through stories to feed him to have the Doctor and Clara removed as quickly as possible.

She knows eight seconds before it happens that the Doctor is going to cut her off. She can feel him – fine hairs rising on her arms.

Running would be too suspicious now so she snags a drink from a passing tray instead, taking a long swallow just as he swings in front of her.

“OH!” He says to Clara next to him, “She really does look like our Mo, doesn’t she?”

_“My bespoke psychopath”_

_“I’m all yours, Sweetie.”_

“Hello again,” River says to Clara, going for mild annoyance.

“Hi,” Clara says, waving awkwardly, “I’m, um, still not drunk.””

“Well then, what’s it mean, eh?” The Doctor steps back, measuring look taking her in from head to toes, “Distant descendant could happen… mind you the statistic possibility for a time traveler to bump into a near genetic duplicate descendant of someone you knew thousands of years before is, well, impressive.”

“Time travelers, are you?” River asks, as if she can’t smell it on them.

“Yes,” Clara says, “Sorry, you just look a lot like someone….”

“I’ve gathered.”

“So,” the Doctor continues, “Potential explanation numero dos… you’re Mo and you’re a time traveler too. Which is actually much more likely, statistically speaking.”

“Mo isn’t a time traveler!” Clara insists, “I mean, except when she’s with us, of course.”

“Well I’m not a time traveler either, and I don’t know anything about my ancestors thousands of years ago, so I’m afraid I can’t help you. Good bye now.” Brushing past them River looks around for the museum curator again. She’s famous, and if anyone identifies her within the Doctor’s hearing….

_If he’s ever to find out, it shouldn’t be like this. No, she always tells him herself._

_“This is the day he finds out who I am.”_

Of course, he cuts her off again, looming into her space the way her does.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Dance with me.”

Her first instinct is to say a distinct _no_ and continue on her way to have him removed, as soon as possible. But she knows how suspicious that would seem, and she’s glimpsed Mr. Lux pulling the curator away anyway, and if he’s dancing with her, the Doctor isn’t talking to anyone else, so in the end, of course it makes more sense to put her hand in his outstretched one.

He’s going to step on her toes, and he won’t be elegant and his forearms are especially slender and wiry after her previous partner but…

_Two heartbeats like home like she’s never ever heard that she can remember and even as she’s reaching for the gun to make them stop she wants to curl up between them and listen and rest and_

Long fingers find her waist, awkward as he is, barely brushing, and it’s the wrong hand and she corrects him, snatching his hand away to hold at the height of their shoulders, grabbing his other hand and placing it at her other side before sliding up to find his shoulder, not as high of a reach as it used to be, now that she’s learned to wear heals again. 

_Always just a little too close to be safe._

“Alright then, if you’re not Mo, what’s your name?” he continues, undaunted.

Tilting her chin defiantly River says, “And why should I tell you?”

“Well, because we’re dancing, aren’t we? Got to know your partner’s name, at least.”

He steps on one of her feet, trips, and hardly seems to notice.

“I don’t know yours.”

“I’m called the Doctor.”

“That’s not a name.”

“Fine then, what are you called?”

“Depends on who’s calling.”

His fingers tighten slightly around hers, eyes a little narrowed.

_And, oh, she is out of practice after the past three years of nappies and coloring books - sounding too much like Mo._

“So since I’m not a time traveler,” River says, quickly, “back to that first option – you must know my ancestor.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m curious – what’s she like?”

_“Tell me about the girl – why’s she important, what’s she for?”_

“She’s…. strange.”

The Doctor steps on her other foot.

“Strange how?” she asks, through a wince.

“She tends to turn up in unexpected places.”

River drops his gaze, looking over his shoulder hopefully for security guards.

“Stop it,” she says.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me all suspicious like. I’m not her.”

“Still haven’t told me who you are, though, have you?”

_Just not in the mood to lie today, my love._

“Likewise.”

The music dies away and River steps away, quickly. At last, she sees uniforms approaching.

“Thank you for the dance, Doctor.”

Spinning away quickly Rive loses herself in the crowd, looking for Mr. Lux or at least another burly athlete to hide behind.

Her communicator buzzes in the hidden pocket in her dress and River pulls it out to see a list of missed calls from Doctor Reed.

_Shake off the ghosts, River – the monsters in the corners that you can’t see._

Changing course for a more secluded spot instead, River pulls out her device and returns his call, speaking as soon as the connection is made, “Sorry, Taryn, didn’t mean to make you worry – everything is fin—“

“River,” he says, and his voice is harsh and gasping, using her name in the tone he uses when things are bad – the tone he hasn’t used in a good long while.

“They’ve taken them – Rory and Anthony are gone.”

_“Demons Run, but count the cost, the battle is won, but the child is lost.”_


	34. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

The back door hangs open, the inside of the house – far too dark – seems so thick and ominous she thinks she can hear it breathing.

Doctor Reed is bleeding on the kitchen floor.

“Emergency services is coming,” he tells her, “I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks.”

There’s a roll of paper towels on the counter, jagged-edged because Rory had spilled juice in the morning and she’d been down on the floor under his booster seat mopping it up with them.

River tears off a long strip and kneels down to press it to the wound in Doctor Reed’s stomach. He’s already blocking it with his nice coat, but it’s soaked so she pushes it aside carefully, pressing the towels there instead.

“What happened?” she asks, past the roar of the quiet in the house and the near-silent seeping of Doctor Reed’s blood.

“They were in the house when we got home; they must’ve disabled the security system…ambushed us as soon as we walked through the door.”

He’s breathing hard, she notices, and his voice is strained.

_The second time he kisses her she lets it linger longer than the first. He’d been so very kind to Rory that day, and the warmth she feels about that almost matches the way his lips warm hers, and the way his fingers press into her shoulder._

_But not quite._

_“I’m sorry,” she says, pulling away gently, “I still…. Can’t.”_

_He looks resigned, shaking his head slowly as his breathing slows, “Don’t be. I know how it is, just the wine and…” he motions around her dimly-lit front porch, “The lights are pretty.”_

“I’m sorry,” he continues, “I tried to stop them, but… you know I’m no good at those kinds of things.”

He grips one of her hands. It’s shaking, so she holds it in front of her face and makes it stop.

_She finds Amy in her office. There is so much work to do, but she’s drawn another vague Roman and she’s crying._

_“I think I’ve lost someone, River,” she says, “I think I’ve lost someone important and… and I don’t know what to do.”_

_River comes around the desk to perch on its edge and hold Amy’s hands. “We fix it,” she tells her, wiping the eye not covered by the drive with a tissue._

“Did they say anything?” she asks.

“It seemed like they’d come for Anthony…. They,” he coughs, and it sounds wet, “They scanned him though and said something about ‘still human’, and then they scanned me and-and Rory and that’s when…. “

_“Melody,” Anthony says, “Look what Rory drew today.”_

_It’s a crayon drawing, intertwining circles woven into scribbles with legs  (‘alive’, past tense verb, messy but clear as day)  and scribbles that are yellow and circular (burning and bright in the temporary continuing tense) because it makes sense to him the way it does to her - superimposed with its clever swirls over the way the world fits into their brains._

_“Nobody taught it to you, River.”_

_“Then why do I know it?”_

_He taps his temple, “Because it was in your head already. That’s how it works, for us.”_

_“I’ve got a time head?”_

_“You’ve got a time head.”_

“They found the two heartbeats, and they were excited, and they…. they took him.”

A million miles away River hears medical services pulling up in front of the house.

She presses a kiss to Doctor Reed’s head and she thinks her lips must feel like ice. Everything does – the stillness she’s forced into her fingers spreading, holding back the tremors and the wail.

“It’s not your fault. I should’ve—“

The medics flood the kitchen with human warmth and their lights, swallowing up Doctor Reed so it’s just her, in the shadows, finding her way up the stairs. Bedroom doors hang open – Anthony’s with the desk in the corner, bed messily made up under the window because he likes to look at the stars, and Rory’s with a plaque featuring his handprint and his name. His bed is empty, toy dinosaurs and spaceships strewn across the floor. There’s a triceratops in a tiny shoe next to his pillow and River slips it into the hidden pocket in her evening gown.

In her room, in the secret space behind the closet, River watches the security footage from the evening. She already knows what she’ll see  – the face of the man with the arms like snakes who kissed Clara on her doorstep a million years ago until River ran his car into a library – so she changes as she watches, the evening grown a satin puddle at her feet as she slips into formfitting dark clothes, guns and bombs and all the lethal things she’s kept, tucked away and untouched, for three years.

_Three years, sunlit._

When the footage ends there’s static and it thrums along with the roar building in her head. The roar on the inside and the silence on the outside makes a narrow place where River is still

_Like a Pond, for a moment, but just a moment before the slope finds her and she’ll be running again._

and she knows, clear and bright and certain, exactly what she will do.


	35. Chapter 34

 

**Chapter 34**

She materializes a moment before she’d left, just in time to see herself in the evening gown rush past, heading for the valet at the bottom of the museum entrance stairs.

Inside, she finds the Doctor and Clara hiding from security behind a potted plant.

“Dance with me,” she says, parting the leaves and holding out her hand to the Doctor.

He stares, gaping like a fish through the fichus leaves, and now, she knows, she is undoubtedly strange.

And it doesn’t matter.

At all.

He takes her hand, no fumbling this time because her grip is sure, directing his.

 “You’re wearing different clothes,” he points out.

“And you’re a time traveler. What are you doing here?” she asks, pulling him close.

“I like museums, I like parties…. thought I’d try out a party in a museum.”

Coincidence then, or the Tardis, or whatever else it is always propelling them toward each other.

_“All of time and space, and you always seem to end up in the middle of my business.”_

_“You left me a note!”_

_“I did not!”_

_“Did to! You just haven’t yet.” He kisses her, quick and shy on the cheek, “Make sure you do after this though, you know, for….continuity.”_

_“Yes, you’re always so careful about continuity, Doctor.”_

“What are _you_ doing here?” he asks.

 “Listen to me,” she says, ignoring him again, “this is very important.”

He leans in, face curious and focused, facing impending, excited victory, like he knows this is the edge of her white flag.

_A thousand years or a moment ago it would’ve mattered, but now it doesn’t._

She slips the note she’d written in her closet over a pile of ammunition packs into his pocket, making him jump as her hand slips past his ribs.

“When I’m gone, take that out, alright? Read it and… well, you’ll know what to do.”

She stops dancing, pressing her hand flat against his chest over the pocket.

What to say? It’s too loud in her head, too much of the silent roar to know what to say.

_“Always and completely forgiven”_

“I’m sorry,” she says, finally.

She’s seen it before, the way Rory’s face is like his, especially the shape of the eyes. She lets herself feel it for a moment, longing and warmth.

She holds his face in her hand, watching surprise and confusion chase themselves across the familiar planes.

_“Tell me who you are.”_

“What’s ‘Mo’ short for, anyway?” she asks him.

His frown deepens,“Morgan, it’s short for Morgan.”

“Are you sure?”

_“I am telling you.”_

The song isn’t over, but she steps away. He won’t follow, he’s too curious already about what she’s put in his pocket, and he has something pressing to ask Clara, who is still lingering behind ornamental shrubbery.

“Please.” She says again, and slip away into the crowd, already dialing the coordinates into the device on her wrist.

 

_River has never been one for stillness. The first time she loses an hour staring down at her sleeping baby she suspects a time warp of some sort._

_Anthony laughs when she shares her concern, “That’s normal,” he says, it’ll happen less once you’re properly sleep deprived from waking up all hours with a newborn.”_

_Except it’s not like she needs much sleep anyway. Instead, hours slip past when she’s just looking at him and feeling his warmth and listening to his breathing at night when everything is still, or in the day with Anthony moving around in the background._

_Everything else just sort of fades. Sometimes she remembers that she has loose ends to tie up with Clara, or she thinks about the mysterious man who had followed Anthony and the indistinct threat of the organization behind him. But then Rory’s tiny hand will flex, or an eyelid will flutter, or the smell or a dirty nappy will distract her, and it’s so easy to let all those things drift away, sinking to the bottom of her life like silt in a sunlit stream._

_There is time for all for all of that, so she saves up her moments to match Rory’s instead._


	36. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

Even before her eyes have had a chance to properly adjust to the harsh glare and stark gray lines, alarms blare. Moments later she’s staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Hands where I can see them. Identify yourself.” The woman behind it orders, “And hand over your vortex manipulator immediately.”

Three more guards materialize behind her.

“Oh alright then. I’m an invited guest though, just so you know.” Casually, as if she’s at home, River slips the manipulator from her wrist, twirling it lightly around her fingers.

“Stop that,” the guard snaps, “Hand over your weapon.”

“I’ll give you this, but I’ve got to get my computer out so I can show you the fellow who invited me. It’d be nice if you could _not_ shoot me.”

“Vortex manipulator first,” the first guard says, and the second who’s been scanning her adds, “And the three guns and seven concussion grenades.”

“Well you’re no fun,” River sighs, dropping the manipulator on the floor and slowly peeling away the identified weapons as well.

When she’s through, she shows them a picture of the agent’s face she’d taken the night she’d paralyzed and questioned him at the hotel.

“Hello,” she greets him, when he arrives “Miss me?”

“Have you decided to accept my offer?”

“We’ll have to re-visit the terms, but yes, I’m here to accept.”

He smiles and claps his oversized hands, “I knew you were a smart one.”

River raises an eyebrow and says, pointedly, “Did you? Are you sure? Was that before or after—“

“You do remember,” he cuts her off, glancing quickly at the guards, “my terms? Those aren’t negotiable.”

“Of course,” River says, winking at him.

Caplum clears his throat, moving to place himself between her and their audience and extending his hand, “How about introductions and a tour then? I’m agent Caplum.”

River shakes his hand, pressing her fingers into his bones, brittle as bird wings to her strength, “I’m agent Nora.”

His commander is a woman called Clancy. She’s very tall and very thin and she gives River a very long lecture on the importance of scientific advancement, and how she should understand her new partnership with the ‘The Guild of Time Masters’ (which is such a ridiculously pretentious title River has to hide a laugh in a fake sneeze. Clancy is too self-involved to notice, but Caplum digs his short nails into her palm when he hands her a tissue) as an act of loyalty to a higher calling rather than a betrayal of the Time Agency.

She continues in this vein throughout the tour of the facility. It’s a space station (because these cold, ugly places where they take children seem to always be space stations) but they won’t tell her where in space they are, and it won’t matter anyway.

_Child of the Tardis, and you’ll never be lost again, Melody Pond, because she knows where to find you now._

When Caplum is called away, River makes her move.

“So Commander Clancy,” she says, “Caplum told me you are, um, looking for – well – _Time Lords_. But I’m sure a person of such sophisticated science like yourself,” Clancy preens, “doesn’t believe in those kinds of fairy tales.”

“On the contrary agent Nora,” Clancy says, pausing and widening her eyes almost comically “We’ve already found them.”

River pretends to muffle a lough, “Commander Clancy, I assure you, I don’t need to be fed urban legends, I’m very committed to your vision as it is…”

“ _I_ assure _you,_ Agent Nora, These are not urban legends. We have a Time Lord here, on this very base, at this. very. moment.”

_It has been a long time since River has felt that old, manic drive to make a person’s heart stop beating. But this woman, with her long neck, just one sharp movement would be all it would take._

“Really?” River says. _Skeptical with an edge of mocking to rub at the soft belly of her pride._

Clancy’s sharp jaw is drawn tight, her eyes narrow. She crosses her arms and River watches as she glances down the hallway in the direction Caplum had headed off in. She marks the moment Clancy makes her decision.

_Signs her death warrant._

“Come with me,” Clancy says.


	37. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

“This is a Time Lord?” River asks. On the other side of the glass Anthony is strapped into a medical chair. One eye is swollen shut and it looks like one of his arms is broken. They have a machine strapped to his other arm.

“No, this is the Time Lord’s human slave.”

River turns to face Clancy slowly, tamping down her rage, “I’m sorry?”

“The Time Lord we’ve acquired is an adolescent – “

“A child?”

“Hardly. An underdeveloped alien lifeform. We believe it’s used its telepathic powers to commandeer this poor man into caring for it. We are working on freeing him from its hold.”

“And how is that going?” River asks, softly.

“Not well, I’m afraid. The man thinks he’s its uncle,” Clancy shakes her head, gazing at Anthony sadly, “Poor thing. We may eventually have to put him out of his misery.”

_Don’t shoot her yet, Melody Pond._

“Fascinating,” River says, turning away from both of them quickly as her fists clench and palms itch, “And where is the Time Lord?”

====

“Here,” Clancy announces, proudly, swinging open a door and sweeping into the small observation room dramatically. Behind her, River slips the gun the scanners had missed from its hiding place at the small of her back. Clancy turns round to face her, and River shoots the self-satisfied smile off of her face.

_"You took my baby away from me, and hurt her.”_

There are two people in lab coats on the other side of the glass, poised over Rory’s tiny form on a table. They look up at the noise. River steps over Clancy’s body, and five shots in a circle shatters the barrier, two more take out the technicians or scientists or whatever they are

_She doesn’t care_

before they can warn anyone. An alarm sounds anyway, probably because of the damage to the glass.

_It doesn’t matter because_

She’s holding him, and his two tiny heartbeats and she can smell the drugs in his bloodstream but they’ll fade and he’ll wake up – he’s stirring already, curling into her arms because he’s _hers._

“I’ve got you, baby.” She murmurs.

_Safe now, safe as houses._

Slipping out of her jacket, river clips the harness she’d hidden around Rory. Both hands free, River shoots the door mechanism and steps into the hallway. Three shots and three more guards drop.

_She’d forgotten how easy killing is. Like breathing or dancing, there’s a rhythm to it - a brightness - like the way a star flares before it goes out._

She can feel the time in her head –  _eight minutes._

It takes three to get back to where Anthony is being held

_And nine bodies_

Forty-seven seconds to release him

_“Melody!”_

She only lets the one-armed hug last for four seconds because in six more seconds eleven guards are barreling down the hallway.

_“And now she’s all grown up and she’s fine, but I’ll never see my baby again.”_

Just ninety seconds and a concussion grenade _eleven more bodies_ to get past them and the smoke.

Distantly she feels the way Anthony flinches away from her, the way the old doctor moves toward the still forms on the ground, looking for life to save. She holds onto his arm and propels him through.

_“You are a killer, Melody Pond.”_

They have to run. Rory is waking up, she can feel him stirring and it reminds her too much of three years ago.  She presses safety against his stirring mind, _safe and home and blue and the way the stars look from his window_ and tells Anthony to run.

“Where are we going?” He asks “Where’s your time watch?”

“It’s a _vortex manipulator_ and they took it.”

_Fifteen seconds and three more bodies._

“How are we getting out of here?”

“I got us a ride, it should be here in two minutes but we have to be in the right place to catch it, so _run!_ ”

Rory tilts his head back in the harness, eyes blinking sleepily and he’s so lovely - the very center of the universe - River thinks she could tear the whole station apart with just her hands; “Mummy,” he says, drowsily.

“That’s right, love.” She kisses his forehead, lining up her next shot over messy amber curls.

_Two bodies, nine seconds._

Anthony flinches beside her. “Melody,” he whispers.

“Mum would’ve done the same, if she’d had half a chance.” River tells him, snatching up one of the fallen guards’ guns as they hurry past.

“It’s not that. You’re just so,” he trips over a boot and River catches him by the elbow, “fast,” he finishes, on a gasp.

“Yes, well, I’m a weapon.”

“You’re a mother.”

_“River Song didn’t get it all from you, Sweetie.”_

She wants to hug him _but they’re down to eighty-seven seconds and there just isn’t enough_ time.

_Runrunrun, boots in the hallways like shadows like monsters like the Doctor who is not a is a good man, River, saving you catching you runrunrunrun_

_“The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules.”_

_"you know what else he is? Not here.”_

The halls are filling up. She can almost count their heartbeats, timelines swirling and tangling out in front of them, but they can make it in time. They will make it in time.

She can see the spot, down a flight of stairs, the unmarked, open place where she’d materialized just hours before, the spot she’d given him coordinates for, slipped in his pocket with the timing adjusted for three hours after her arrival which will be in _twenty-three seconds._

River angles her body so that both Rory and Anthony are between her and the wall. With a gun in each hand, picking off the approaching guards from either side, she guides them down the stairs.

“Here.” She tells Anthony, stopping, “we have seven seconds.”

_six_

four more guards rounds the corner, shouting, and she picks off the front row,

_five_

Before the last body falls, River hears a larger group approaching from the other side of the hallway

_four_

They have net launchers, nasty things, and there will be no more running, pinned down as they are but that’s alright because in

_three_

Seconds they will be gone

_two_

She takes out the first set of net wielders, but those right behind them pick up the fallen launchers

_One._

_“You might want to find something to hang on to,” and blow him a kiss and pretend you’re flying, not falling._


	38. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

She listens for the familiar strain of Tardis breaks, braces for the usual chaotic landing breeze, but there is nothing, and a shot gets through, the bright laser burning into her thigh.

“Melody!” Anthony yells, “Are you alright?” She’s already dropped the man who shot her.

_He’s always late, the Doctor. Especially for the Ponds._

“It’s fine,” she tells him, “He’s always late.”

_Four more bodies, but she’s stopped counting the time._

“The Doctor? You… you called the Doctor?”

“Yes.”

_She isn’t counting, but she knows it’s been seventeen seconds. If she’d been jumping out of a building and expecting a ride, she’d have hit the pavement by now._

She looses another concussion grenade.

The shooting stops from all sides, and she hears Anthony breathe a sigh of relief, like he thinks they’ve won.

River knows better though.

When the smoke clears, they are well and truly surrounded, and there are too many weapons pointed at them.

Caplum slips to the front.

“Professor Song,” he says, “We should talk.” She levels her gun at his heart.

“You found out my name. How sweet.”

“Your backstory didn’t check out. I’m afraid we’re going to have to re-negotiate our terms. Also, did I mention this is a human-only operation? I don’t think this partnership is going to work out after all.”

“I don’t negotiate terms with child snatchers. It’s a personal policy. Come to think of it, I try to avoid species-ists as well.”

Caplum looks around pointedly at the small army bearing down on River, Anthony and Rory, “Are you sure? Because we’ve just decided we don’t really need Anthony Williams. You and the boy, well, as you know we have an interest in Time Lords, but Anthony Williams is expendable.”

“Melody,” Anthony murmurs, urgently, “Listen, the most important thing is getting Rory out of here, right? So—“

“Oh,” Caplum continues, “Also, I should probably tell you we’re mostly interested in Time Lord brains, so everything from the neck down is fairly expendable as well.”

“Never mind,” Anthony mutters.

Mentally River quickly counts the weapons pointed at them, the time it takes to pull triggers and for lasers to make contact, how quickly she can shoot, and she knows she can’t block them all.

_“I hear them in my head sometimes,” Amy tells her, “The monks singing.”_

_“Those are the doors locking.”_

It’s been three minutes _and seven seconds_ past the rendezvous.

_“Where were you today?”_

 “What do you want?” River asks Caplum, finger twitching longingly on the trigger.

“Drop the guns, or we start shooting in ten seconds.”

_Nine_

_Eight_

She counts again, looks for an opening, a way out.

_There’s always a way out._

_Seven_

_Six_

_Five_

But there are so many of them, and now she’s injured and there’s Anthony and Rory one either side of her.

_The glass closes around her face and she knows she is_

_Trapped._

_Four_

_“You are alone, Melody. You are always alone.”_

_Three_

River drops her weapons, wrapping her arms tight around Rory to shield him from the stun blasts.

_Two_

_One_

_She wakes up alone, drained and weak but also_ known, _she thinks, until the nurse says,_

_“I’m sorry, Miss, they’ve already gone.”_

_She waits, thinking they’ll come back. She flips through the blank pages of the blue book he’s left on her nightstand and she waits (like a good Pond)._

_But at night waiting is hard and the air is empty and the fear sets in, so she whispers, “Always forgiven, he said” to the shadows and they hiss back,_

_“the Doctor lies.”_

_The Tardis finds her when she’s sleeping, slipping in, finally, when time and space cease to matter._

_(They’re more alike than ever when she’s sleeping, mother and child)_

_The Doctor in his coattails slips through the door, studying the note in his hand._

_Clara behind him asks, “Doctor, what’s going on? What’s the note say?”_

_“Coordinates, just coordinates.” He slips the note back into his pocket and rubs his palms together in excitement, “Let’s see where not-Mo wants us to go, eh?”_

_He doesn’t even bother to change out of his fancy clothes. As soon as they land he’s bounded to the door and thrown it open. He almost takes a step out, then freezes, terribly still in the doorway._

_“Doctor?” Clara asks, “Where are we?” she tries to push past him and he pushes her back against the handrail urgently._

_“No! Clara, this is very important, you must not go outside, do you understand?”_

_“Doctor, what—“_

_“Stay. Here. It’s too dangerous.”_

_“Well that’s nothing new.”_

_“This is different.”_

_“Why?”_

_The Doctor ignores Clara’s question, stepping back and staring at the half-open Tardis door. He turns away from it, pacing back to the console. He stares into the rotor for a moment, then presses the palms of his hands against his eyes._

_“What is ‘Mo’ short for?” The Doctor asks Clara, voice muffled against his arms._

_“Why are you asking me that?”_

_“Clara, please – what’s Mo’s name?”_

_Clara stares at his back, “Why…does this feel like Trenzalore?” she asks him._

_“This is a tomb too,” the Doctor says._

_“Harmony,” Clara answers slowly, “Her name is Harmony.”_

_“Of course it is,” The Doctor says. He passes Clara, pressing a hand to her shoulder and a finger to her nose._

_“Stay. Here.” He orders, and sweeps out._

_Naturally, Clara follows a moment later._


	39. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

_Outside they’re harder to see – grainy almost._

_“Doctor, wait!”_

_“Clara! I told you – oh, never mind!”_

_“Is this a library?”_

_“Used to be. Now it’s a tomb, like I said….and kind of like…heaven.”_

_“That doesn’t make any sense.”_

_“Listen, Clara, you_ cannot _let your shadow touch the shadows, do you understand? You will die, and there will be nothing I can do to stop it.”_

_Clara crosses her arms and glances nervously at the bookshelves. “Can’t say I think much of heaven.”_

_“Lucky for you it’s not yours then,” The Doctor says, quickly tracing his long-ago steps like it hasn’t been so many years and lives down to the computer hub with the burned-out chair and the blackened wire crown and a broken pair of handcuffs dangling from the wall._

_“What’s this?” Clara bends over the chair and the Doctor doesn’t look in her direction but snaps at her,_

_“Don’t touch it, Clara!”_

_She freezes, standing slowly, “Doctor?”_

_“Just… don’t touch anything.”_

_He doesn’t look at anything either, eyes slipping rather than landing on anything in the room until he finds the information kiosk._

_“Hello there,” he says to it, “I need to speak to….Charlotte.”_

_The head turns around, and there’s Charlotte’s little face, awkwardly far above the ground where it shouldn’t be, “The library is closed,” she says, “Please stay in the light and exit immediately.”_

_“Yes, yes I know. Listen, Charlotte, you remember the Doctor, yes? Skinny bloke, stupid shoes? Well, I’m his… friend… and he wants me to ask you—“_

_“You_ are _the Doctor,” Charlotte says, “You shouldn’t tell lies.”_

_Clara chuckles nervously behind him, “that’s right, creepy little girl face, you tell him.”_

_“Clever girl,” the Doctor says, stepping closer to peer up into Charlotte’s face, “How’d you know?”_

_“River read us stories from her book.”_

_“River Song?” Clara asks._

_“Yes,” Charlotte says, “River Song read us stories from her book about the Doctor. The Doctor had a different face in her stories. Sometimes it was this one. I think you’re a little shorter than you were in River’s stories though. Have you shrunk?”_

_The Doctor glances down at his legs and pats the top of his own head, “No…no, don’t think so. Perhaps you’ve gotten taller.”_

_“I can’t get taller, silly – I’m in a computer.”_

_“Good point! Such a clever girl. Listen, let me…” he stops and clears his throat, “have a word with River about it, hhm? Maybe she’s made a mistake in her book.”_

_Charlotte considers him thoughtfully, then she says, “I can’t.”_

_“Oh? Why not?”_

_“Because. River Song has left the library.”_

_“What… what did you say?” The Doctor demands, his voice with those raw edges when the young-man mask is cracking and the old man breaking through, “She can’t, Charlotte. River didn’t...” he motions helplessly toward the burned out seat, “There’s nothing left for her to leave in. Where’s she gone? Did someone take her out? Did…I take her out?”_

_“No. River left on her own, just like the others.”_

_The Doctor closes his eyes, his hands shaking._

_“Show me,” he says, “You have security recordings, don’t you? Of course you do, I fixed them for you. And it hasn’t been that long, has it? They’ve got to still be working.”_

_“It has been seventeen years since you were here before,” Charlotte says, and the Doctor flinches, “but the security recording system still works because Doctor Moon always fixes it.”_

_On the cracked screen behind him the power clicks on, a security image of the same room playing and Charlotte’s face in front of lacy curtains and the back of a sofa in a tiny square in the corner._

_“Play,” Charlotte on the screen says._

_For a moment the scene on the screen is still and empty, and then lights flash, and for an instant on the chair there is a woman in a white space suit, crowned in white fire, and then there is another flash, golden from her front, swallowing up the figure and the white. When it all fades, there is a different woman curled up on the floor. She’s still for a moment, shaking and her lips moving although the recoding has no sound. She pushes herself up to her knees, tangling her hands in her long mess of red curls. And then the golden light again, smaller this time, just a flair around her middle. She curls down around it, like she’s in pain. Eventually the woman moves, finding her feet slowly and awkwardly, hands wrapped tight around her stomach. She’s wearing the remains of a simple black bodysuit, and the skin around her stomach showing through is raw and pink like a burn. She looks up, hair finally falling back as she faces the door and, coincidentally, the camera, and Clara gasps, “Mo! That’s…. that’s Mo.”_

_The image freezes._

_The Doctor’s legs sort of crumple._

_“Doctor!” Clara says, running over to him, kneeling down and wrapping an arm around his shoulders._

_“I don’t understand, who is that?” Clara asks Charlotte._

_“Which one?”_

_“What do you mean, ‘which one?’ The woman in the video….”_

_“Charlotte,” the Doctor says, “How many left the library on that day?”_

_“Two,” Charlotte says, and to Clara she explains, “The woman is River Song.”_

_“And they made it out?” The Doctor asks, “The shadows didn’t….”_

_“Two people were saved. Two people left the library.”_

River wakes up. She hears someone yelling about ‘it wearing off too soon’, and when a man in a lab coat leans over her she slams her forehead against his nose. He screams, and she thinks she must be losing her touch because he should have been killed instantly if she’d done it right, and then she’s slipping under again and

 

_“Where are we now?” Clara asks._

_“New York,” The Doctor says._

_“Why New York?”_

_“I need to have a word with Mo.”_


	40. Chapter 39

When she wakes up again, everyone is keeping their distance.

“What’s the matter, handsome?” She asks the man in the corner with a heavily bandaged nose, “Come give us a kiss.”

“I think we’ve all had enough of your kisses, professor,” Caplum says from her other side. Turning her head is hard, like there’s a weight on her forehead but she manages.

“Well _you_ certainly have.”

He glances nervously toward the other side of the room.

“Oh, don’t worry,” River continues, dropping her voice, “I’m not going to bother telling on you, do you know why?”

Caplum takes a few steps closer, leaning over to ask, softly, “Why?”

“Because,” River whispers, holding his gaze, “I’m going to kill you.”

Carefully, Caplum dares to plant his large palms on either side of her immobile shoulder, “Someone once told me,” he says into her face, “that a position like yours isn’t one to be making threats from.”

“Darling, I’m more of a threat immobile and hog-tied than you are on your best day, by far.”

Caplum raises his hand like he’s going to hit her and River smirks, daring him. His eyes flicker in the direction of his broken-faced comrade, and he seems to think better of touching her.

With a final sneer he turns away, snapping, “Knock her out again.”

 

_She’s watching as Clara finds the Doctor sitting on the floor in the children’s section of the Tardis library._

_“How’d it go?” she asks, softly._

_“It didn’t,” the Doctor says._

_“What does that mean? Did you find her?”_

_“Yes. She…didn’t want to talk.”_

_He stands up, fingers brushing past the empty spaces in the shelves._

_“I found her in here one night,” he laughs but it sounds angry, “I thought it was strange. This is what she was doing – taking children’s books.”_

_“I’m sure there’s a reason,”_

_“You know, it could be a plot,” The Doctor says._

 

_“A plot?”_

 

_“Well, I mean she might_ not _be River. It could be… you know, a plot of some sort.”_

 

_“Who would do something like that? And why?”_

 

_“I don’t know… daleks maybe.”_

 

_“Doctor…”_

 

_“Why wouldn’t she tell me, Clara?”_ _he asks, “There’s other things missing to, you know.  Things for…for babies. And she took them, and she just…left. Ran away. I don’t—“_

_Clara walks to his side and rests her head against his slumped shoulder._

_“You need to talk to her.”_

_“I tried!”_

_“Keep trying then.”_

_._


	41. Chapter 40

 “Good morning professor.” Caplum says, “Wake her up, all the way.”

“I have very good news, Professor Song,” he continues.

“Somehow I think you and I might have very different ideas about what is ‘good news’,” River tells him, her voice rasping.

Caplum ignores her, “You are going to make us some money,”

“I was right - very different,” River mutters, flinching as she feels the shot of whatever booster they’re giving her, the sudden drive toward full alertness making her feel jittery.

“You double checked the restraints?” Caplum asks.

“Yes, they’re good.”

Realizing she can turn her head River glances over at the tech, “Oh, you’d better pray that’s true.”

Caplum grasps her chin, slowly pulling her face back around to his, “As I was saying, we have a very important investor come to visit, and he’s interested in seeing a real live Time Lord,” He shakes her chin lightly, “Do you think you can behave?”

_“There are twenty-seven bones in a human hand, but you only need to break three to incapacitate your target,”_

_Fingernails tracing the ridges under her skin, “These three.”_

She very nearly takes his finger off, her teeth just a hair too slow.

“Careful, professor,” Caplum says, jerking his hand away, “move too quickly and those cuffs you’re wearing are going to be a problem.”

“Good thing I’m planning to kill you slowly then,” River answers, straightening her shoulders as much as she can and smiling sweetly.

“I’m getting a little tired of your mouth,” Caplum grasps her chin again, hard enough to bruise.

“Yes, well I wasn’t much a fan of yours either.”

Still grasping her chin Caplum shoves her head back, hard, and instantly white hot pain shoots up her arms and legs, like her very bones are melting.

When it fades, she finds herself on the floor, Caplum smirking down at her.

“Oops,” he says, “I forgot how sensitive your cuffs are.” To the guards he says, “Get her up. Slowly.” He turns back, kicking her leg lightly with the toe of his boot, “Or not. Accidents happen.”

_The lights are all on in the house, cheery and yellow, casting squares on the darkened lawn._

_The Doctor has the Tardis parked behind one of the large trees in her backyard. He’s broken Rory’s little baby swing with a sloppy landing, and she remembers that she’d wondered how the rope had snapped._

_The back door swings open and River and music spill out onto the back patio. She’s got Rory propped on her hip and she’s spinning in circles, making him giggle as she sings “Happy Birthday to Rory” off-tune._

_Doctor Reed trails out behind them with a wine glass in his hand, settling against the railing to watch them before abandoning the glass there to join in, slipping an arm around River’s waist. The three of them sway in and out of the light spilling through the windows and in the Tardis’ doorway the Doctor’s breath catches._

_No, she thinks, it wasn’t like that. But Mrs. Pond steps out and takes Rory, kissing his cheeks, and when they’ve gone back inside Doctor Reed bends to kiss River, the stoop of his back clear as they stand framed against a window._

_The Doctor spins away, running back into the Tardis, door slamming closed behind him._

_And River remembers that she’d felt him there. She’d thought it a mix of guilt and wine making her smell him on the air, but she’d stepped away from Doctor Reed anyway._

_Why didn’t you stay a little longer? She thinks._

_Why didn’t you come back?_

_Where were you today?_

 

“Behave,” Caplum hisses as he steps aside, the surrounding guards ushering her past him and through the doors.

The room is less utilitarian than the rest of the station – at least the bits of it River’s seen – with a couple of comfortable looking sofas facing one another around a low table. There’s even a small bar at the back, staffed by a woman who is almost certainly an android. One wall is nothing but window, open to the blackness of space and drifting stars.

A well-dressed man with slicked back hair and the most orderly, white teeth River has ever seen, rises from the sofa facing the door.

“Agent Caplum!” he says, “allow me to introduce you and our…” he glances at River in her shackles, nervousness dimming his grin for the briefest moment, “guest,” he clears his throat, “to Mister Smith.”

Rising from the sofa faced away from the door, the Doctor turns around slowly, “Hello,” he says. 

_“Sorry I’m late.”_


	42. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So just a little bit of clarification: The Doctor didn't show up when River asked him to from her perspective, and now she's having Tardis-dreams about him finding out she's alive/ going to her house/ being angsty about it/etc. But from the Doctor's perspective, as he's doing all those things, he isn't late, and he hasn't decided not to show up, because time travel means he could wait ten years of his time and still enter those coordinates she gave him and pick her up right on time. Now we know because of River's perspective that he doesn't, but as far as he's concerned, he still could. So the dreams River is having about the Doctor - they aren't what he's doing as she's a prisoner because time travel means things aren't linear like that - she's just seeing him finding out at a certain point in his personal time line that doesn't necessarily coincide with where she's at in hers. Does that make sense? It's confusing because, you know, time travel ;)

Caplum pushes around in front of River to shake the Doctor’s hand, and Clara’s as well where she’s standing next to the Doctor wearing glasses and holding a clipboard (which is silly, River notes, distantly, because no one uses a clipboard anymore).

Caplum is saying something flattering to Mr. Smith, and the man with the perfect teeth makes sounds of agreement next to him, but River isn’t hearing them. The Doctor holds her gaze, and it’s been a very long time since she’s seen his eyes like this.

_The Oncoming Storm, but you are a storm too, Melody, the storm in his way_

_On a beach_

_Next to a lake_

_On the other side of and at the very center of the universe ending._

His gaze shifts, circling her face, her hair which is certainly mad by now, down her arms to the shackles and past them to her finger, down to her ankles and her toes.

_“Are you still working? Because I’m still a relative. Access files on River Song.”_

_“Records available.”_

_“Show me her, show me River Song.”_

“So,” The Doctor says, “This is a Time Lord.”

_The doors to her cell fly open, and even though she heard the Tardis landing and knew he was coming even before then, she starts._

_When he steps in he’s practically buzzing. He stops in the doorway, staring at her on her cot like he’s never seen her before or like he’s been looking for her for a hundred years, or like she’s sprouted another head and he find it brilliant and fascinating._

_“Hello, Sweetie,” she says, relaxing back against the wall and patting the spot next to her, “step into my office.”_

_Instead he steps in front of her, catches her face between his palms and kisses her._

_When he pulls back, it isn’t far, eyes dancing over her face and her hair. His eager hand slides from the side of her head to her neck, thumb gently finding her pulse point._

_She counts with him, the double echo-beat of her two hearts. He closes his eyes and makes a funny, gasping happy sound as he presses his forehead against hers, “Hello, dear,” he says._

He moves in close, studying her, and she sees his nostrils flair as he breathes in deep, ignoring Caplum’s hand on his arm and his warning to keep his distance.

“She killed twenty-three men in nine minutes,” Caplum explains, “and nearly one more while sedated and bound.”

She hasn’t bothered to turn on her implanted bio dampeners in years (they muffle her connection with Rory and neither one of them like that), and she watches his face – it’s all she can see really.

“Does she speak?” he asks, and she knows he’s asking her even though his eyes are fixed to somewhere near her collarbone.

_His tongue tracing a line down her neck and he stops to murmur in the hollow there and echoing in golden swirls behind her eyes, “you taste like home.”_

“Yes,” River says, trying to stand taller, “she does.”

“Does she have anything to say to me?” he asks, softly.

_Dangerous, the shadows whisper, run._

River shifts her gaze to look over his shoulder at Caplum, and she remembers like ice down her back that she is very, very angry too.

_If he’d been on time they’d all be safe now._

“Where is my son?” she asks Caplum.

“Back in a lab where he belongs,” he answers with a mean little smile.

“For science, of course,” perfect teeth cuts in, his voice modulated and soothing, “For the greater good, that’s why we’re all here.”

“Of course,” Caplum agrees, his eyes and his smirk fixed on River.

“Right,” the Doctor says, turning back to perfect teeth with one last sharp-edged, searching glance into River’s eyes, “You were explaining the science to me.”

“Yes,” Perfect Teeth says, “As I was saying, our associate’s discovery was the catalyst for this project.” He fiddles with a controller in his hand, and the display on an empty wall flickers to grainy images of a stark, rusty world littered with strange, eclectic debris, “Through what should have been a fatal time travel accident, he stumbled upon a Tardis graveyard secreted away in a pocket universe on a dead alien planet.”

And River remembers that story, flickering through her dreams sometimes when the Tardis’ memories abruptly grew less abstract and she’d see the Doctor’s face through two eyes framed in ancient fondness and the memory of the taste of his skin.  

_“You bit me!”_

“Miraculously, he was retrieved, and we began the process of collecting the materials and constructing a Tardis of our own. Now, you might be wondering, what’s so important about a Tardis? After all, time travel is nothing new.”

River catches Clara’s eye, and raises a sardonic eyebrow.

“Well,” Perfect Teeth continues, “the Time Lord’s Tardis is infinitely more powerful than our current modes of transport through time, capable of altering and affecting the universe in ways far greater than merely moving through it. Their internal capacity is practically limitless, and they have the ability to alter and create dimensions… the list goes on and on, but essentially, the power a Tardis presents is immense.”

“Fascinating,” the Doctor says, “But why the child?”

Perfect Teeth flicks the controller again, and an image of a haphazard conical structure in a lab pulls up next. “We successfully constructed a prototype Tardis years ago with the materials and information from the pocket universe, but unfortunately haven’t been able to use it.”

“And why is that?

“It appears that a Tardis is actually, well, sentient, and without the sentient component, the whole thing falls apart shortly. Our first attempt was…. disastrous. And despite our every effort, we have been unable to create an AI compatible with a Tardis. Which is where the child comes in,” he explains, nodding in Rivers direction.

“We have a working theory – a very certain theory, let me assure you – that a Time Lord mind is compatible with Time Lord technology and can be successfully substituted for the AI system,” he sounds terribly excited, and River feels horribly sick.

“So we began our search, through time, for a Time Lord. A young Time Lord, actually. We’re certain a young mind will be easier to mold to our purposes,” Through the nausea and the blood pounding in her head River sees the Doctor’s fists clench.

_“…trained and conditioned for one purpose.”_

“and now you’ve found one,” The Doctor says, softly, “Well done.”

Perfect Teeth looks proud and switches the image on the screen. This time it’s a diagram, clinical and exacting, of the procedure they have planned.

“You can see we’re borrowing and hybridizing some futuristic technology, specifically the removal of the head from the rest of the body to ensure longevity and successful implantation into the AI structure.”

Caplum’s cruel smile flickers back to life, eyes fixed on River.

“Only twenty-three?” The Doctor asks River over his shoulder.

“Well I was in a hurry. I _thought_ I had a ride to catch.”

“Sorry?” says Perfect Teeth, glancing between them.

“Oh, I just meant I could see how your plan could make her very, very angry,” the Doctor explains.

“Of course we can’t expect someone so emotionally invested in the subject to understand the greater good of the technology we’re creating here,” Perfect Teeth explains, plastic compassion on his face as he folds his hands together in graceful regret.

“Naturally,” the Doctor agrees, and even from behind River can tell how he’s glaring at the diagram on the screen with thinly veiled fury. “Well I’ve made my decision,” he says, turning around.

For the first time, as he spins around it, white knuckled on it’s handle, River notices that he’s brought his fancy walking stick.

“I will fund your project,” the Doctor continues, nodding in Clara’s direction where she’s scribbling on her clipboard, head ducked to hide the angry posture of her jaw, “With conditions, of course.”

“Of course!” Perfect Teeth says, excitedly, his smile widening to reveal one tooth farther back on the left side hanging crooked, “Whatever we can do for our sponsors, we’re happy to.”

“Good.” Palms pressed together he spins back around, “I want to keep this one,” he points at River, “Oh! And I get to watch the procedure involving the child.”

“Keep her?” Caplum asks.

“Mr. Smith,” Perfect Teeth says, smile fixed, “perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding…”

“No misunderstanding, I’m giving you quite a lot of money, yes?”

“Well, yes,” Perfect teeth agrees.

“In exchange I want to keep one of your Time Lords – the one you apparently don’t need - for my own private collection, and I want a front row seat to your little project.”

“She’s quite dangerous,” Perfect teeth warns.

“I’ll manage,” the Doctor says.

“You won’t,” River counters, glaring, “If you think I’m leaving here without my

_(Our)_

Son….”

“Really now?” the Doctor asks, daring, as he turns back to face her.

“These men,” she nods at perfect teeth and Caplum, “They’re walking dead men. Take me away from here without him and Anthony and you’re one of them.”

“I’ve been a dead man,” he says, voice low.

“How’d that work out for you?”

He presses into her space again, “Not bad. How was it for you?”

She glares and the Doctor holds her gaze.

“I do hope you have a strong enough sedative” he says to Caplum, raising his voice as he holds her gaze.

“Yes, of course. It took some trial and error but we’ve got it worked out. Those cuffs seem to be working well too.”

“Excellent,” he steps back and claps his hands.

The door opens behind her and there’s a prick at River’s neck, and then

_“Did you talk to her this time?” Clara asks, taking a seat on the bottom step. The Doctor spins in a lazy circle in his maintenance swing, idly toying with his screwdriver._

_“No. She was… busy.”_

_“Doctor! You have to talk to her!”_

_“I couldn’t. Just… I really couldn’t Clara. Really. She was… and there was…”_

_“Doctor…”_

_“She’s, you know, moved on.”_

_Clara sits on the floor in front of him, “Then why’d she give you that note?”_

_“I… don’t know.”_

_“Alright. Well, maybe if you go to the second set of coordinates you’ll find out.”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“Okay, let’s go then,” she grabs her hand and pulls, but the Doctor stays stubbornly in his swing until Clara gives up with a huff._

_“Can’t.”_

_“Why??!”_

_“Because what if I do what she wants and she just… flits off and disappears again. I don’t like it.”_

_“Doctor,” Clara leans forward, “you’re feeling hurt and you’re being very stupid.”_

_“Clara, I am a genius. You should know this by now.”_

_“Yes and you’re also incredibly stupid sometimes. Doctor, Mo was here with us for a little while. Do you think maybe she thought you’d… moved on?”_

_“Well of course I have. You’ve got to live, you know. But that doesn’t mean… I mean, if I could have her back I’d… oh”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“But it’s different,” The Doctor says, quickly, spinning himself away from Clara in aggravation, “She could’ve come and got me. She was right here! I thought- I thought she was gone. Forever.”_

_“Except she was in the computer.”_

_“Yes. But she was dead.”_

_“But actually you could’ve spoken with her anytime you liked.”_

_“…Yes.”_

_“But you didn’t”_

_“Well, no.” he rubs at his chest, “It would’ve been….hard. It would’ve hurt. That one time it did. A lot._

_“If it were me, and I was a dead person saved in a computer and my husband didn’t come to talk to me, I think I might think he didn’t want me around anymore.”_

_“River wouldn’t…. she knows me. She would’ve understood. She always did.”_

_“I think you two might be chasing circles around one another.”_

_The Doctor pulls the crumpled note from his pocket, staring down at it._

_“Like a carousel,” he says._

_“Let’s call it a roundabout. Roundabout have exits.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got it? So the Doctor River just saw in this dream is at a different point in his timeline than the Doctor who just turned up. The one who just turned up is later in his timeline, so stuff has happened for him between what River just saw in her dream and when he shows up as "Mister Smith the investor".


	43. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a while because I really, really wanted to get it right. Hopefully it was worth the wait!

Her eyes open to silver, painted stars on the ceiling above her.

_And for a moment she thinks that maybe it was all a dream or another story in one of Charlotte’s books, and there’s a chance, there’s time still for him to come and get her out, blow the dust off the cover and hold her hand with his eyes that know her and smile._

The air is wrong for that though, too alive to be caught between book pages, and simmering with a tension that gathers at the back of her throat like dust.

River licks her lips, turning her head toward the swirling center of it where the Doctor sits.

_Where she used to curl up to read sometimes when she couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to disturb him but did want to watch his chest rise and fall over the edge of the pages._

“Good morning,” he says into the tense stillness, the words like stone-tipped arrows.

_“Good morning,” he groans, limbs warm and languid as he stretches them against her, as he buries his head in the curve of her neck_

River tries to sit up and her arm jerks back.

“What’ve you done?” She asks, feeling panicked and trapped and so _wrong_ in this room that was _home_ and _haven_ , “Where’s Rory? And the other one is Anthony – Anthony Williams, their _son_ – where are they?”

“Careful,” the Doctor says, “You’ll have to maneuver a bit.”

And she does, because her wrist is handcuffed to the post of their bed.

River sits carefully, head spinning as she pushes the panic down and pulls at the cuff, “You know I could snap this in a minute and strangle you with it,” she says, and she thinks it might be more for her than for him.

“I think you’re underestimating me.”

The Doctor’s turned his head away, and the room is dimly lit by just a couple of lamps, but if she couldn’t see the way his jaw is clenched she can see the tense strain of the muscles in his neck, the way his fingertips press hard into his temples and his other hand keeps a death grip on the arm of his chair.

_She reminds herself that it isn’t selfishness, the way he lashes out at her when it’s her mother he’s sending through the forest in the dark, he just doesn’t know yet that Amy was hers first._

“I very much doubt that. I never underestimate you. Why am I handcuffed?”

“You have a habit of running off when I’m trying to talk to you.” He stands quickly and paces away from her, begins to make a winding trail back and forth across the room at the foot of the bed.

_and he’s never seemed like so much a stranger as he does now, between her and her very heartbeats, caught away from her somewhere, abandoned._

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“You already know,” she growls, frustrated.

“NO!” He yells, and if she was one for startling she would, “No, you tell me. Just…” he quiets, pleading almost, “just _tell_ me.”

“Why? We’ve done this before.”

He looks hungry, turning to face her “Then it should be easier!”

“It’s not.”

“WHY?” He yells again, resumes his pacing, “Why can’t you just

_“Why are you this?”_

tell me? Why couldn’t you _tell_ me?”

She wishes she could stand.

She wishes she could stand and wear high heels like she did when they danced. Instead, like she is she feels

_Small._

“BECAUSE!” She yells back, jerking at the cuff, “Where _were_ you? Why didn’t you—“ and to her horror there’s a lump in her throat and she stops, swallowing it down.

_“One does ones best to hide the damage.”_

He answers her anyway, finally facing her and standing close enough to see with the lamplight falling across his face, that he’s crying, “Because you were DEAD!”

It’s been so long since she’s seen him cry; she forgot what it was like,

_the way tears so old smell in the air when the seal on the bottle is cracked open._

“You were dead,” he says again, sounding more desperate than angry this time.

He paces close, drops to his knees next to her and catches her face between his hands.

Cornered, tensed to lash out, her breath stutters at the feel of his palms and the warmth of his exhales on her face.

_“My bespoke psychopath.”_

_“All yours, Sweetie.”_

He presses his forehead against hers, hard enough to bruise and she can feel his thoughts throwing themselves against the rocks between them, dragging at the sand.

“You were dead,” he says again, but like its Christmas morning this time

_and he’s just remembered that every year they leave him a present under the tree, whether he’s there to open it or not._

And he tilts his head up and presses his lips against hers.

_And the universe all at once flies apart and puts itself together again, time and space falling back into their places like the way their hands fit together and the way his_

_Mouth is_

_Just as_

_Warm as_

_Hers._

_And the way their_

_heartbeats sync_

_the double tempo._

_And how does he do that?_

_How does he do that when you aren’t real?_

_“You’re always here to me,” he says_

_“I can always_

_See you.”_

He pulls away slowly, and she tastes mingled oceans on her lips, and their breath like breezes

_After a hurricane_

mingles too.

He pulls away slowly.

“I’m so angry,” he says, voice ragged and thin, his lips against her forehead, “I am _so_ angry.”

He presses a kiss there, and finishes, voice breaking like waves so soft she hardly hears him, “And so happy.”

And then he pulls away, spins in his usual way, and walks out the door.


	44. Chapter 43

 

She breaks out of the handcuff – just a regular old handcuff, she’s relieved to find – in two minutes and ten seconds, and it only takes that long because she has to catch her breath first.

She leaves it dangling from her wrist, slipping into the hallway to the sound of its soft clatter.

She finds him easily, in the console room, eyes fixed on the monitor.

Slowly and silently River wraps the loose chain around her wrist, all the ways to get him _force him_ to save Rory and Anthony _now_ flickering through her mind.

“I meant what I said,” she grits out to his back, “If you think I’ll leave them—“

She stops abruptly, noticing finally what he’s watching on the monitor-- a live video feed of Rory in a lab.

He’s unconscious and restrained, but _whole_ and River lets the chain unravel with a clatter and a soft gasp of relief.

“Oh, there you are,” the Doctor says, not bothering to turn around.

 “What is going on? Why did take me away from there without him? I know you’re angry but couldn’t you have been on time _just this once?_ “

_And even as she says it she knows it isn’t fair. He’s never been late for her, not ever. If anything he’s often been…_

“I came early.”

“Sorry?”

“I came early, fiddled with the coordinates you gave me to pop in and out a few times and figure out what was going on. I made a plan. A very clever plan, by the way – unlike yours - that isn’t going to land us all chained up in a lab!”

_After the first time he catches her with his swimming pool she stares at him as he rubs a towel across her damp hair. “How did you know?” she asks him, “How did you know to catch me?”_

_“River,” he says, with a frown, “I always catch you.”_

_“You do?”_

_He pulls the towel over her face and many years later she realizes it was to hide his face from her when he says, “Always.”_

“My plan was working just fine until the getaway bit fell through!”

“Your plan was going to get all of us _there!_ ” he snaps, pointing up at the image of Rory on the screen.

“What are you talking about?”

“They’ve hybridized Time Lord security technology,” he fiddles with the controls and the screen splits in two, one half remaining with Rory and the other a convoluted diagram surrounded in Gallifreyan. “Look here,” he says, assuming, of course, that she can read and make sense of it, “You can time travel into their base, but you can’t get out again unless they let you out. Even with a Tardis. “

And she feels ill and furious at the same time, with herself. Because she should’ve made sure. She should’ve noticed the friction on her way in with the vortex manipulator. She had been _distracted_ and _emotional_ and it had almost cost everything.

“So you _watched?”_ River growls, “They were shooting at us, someone might’ve been hit…”

“You were hit.”

“That’s right I--”

She stops, free hand tracing the jagged edge of the hole in her pants where the shot got through, finding only unmarked skin on the other side.

“What did you do?” she asks him, stunned.

_“That must hurt,” he says, softly gathering her hand like an injured bird, “come here.”_

“Don’t start.” With his back still to her he shifts away, circling the console. 

“You are _not_ allowed to do that!”

_“Nothing is gained by you being a sentimental idiot!”_

“Says who!?” he yells, abruptly, “Your rules are s _tupid_! I’m done, I am so finished with, with--”

“Yes dear, I got that message about ten years into the data core!”

“No! I’ve hardly even _started_ with you--!” He stops, freezing with his frustrated hands in the air as he processes what she’s said, and then he’s pacing around the console, back in her space and raising the hairs at the back of her neck like an electric charge, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She takes a step back and looks away, her line of sight falling back on the monitor.

“Never mind. What about Anthony?”

“He’s fine,” the Doctor runs a hand through his hair, leaving the front askew as his shoulders sag, “He’s human so they’re not bothering with him much. And – hang on -   _no_ , I _will not ‘never mind’_! What. did. you. mean.”

_At first she waits, and even though she doesn’t say it Charlotte somehow seems to pick up on her inward stance. The stories she chooses are all about princesses in towers and heroic rescues. River has never been a damsel, but she still smiles when the prince arrives and asks Charlotte to through in a dragon for her to fight on the way out of the tower, just for fun._

River takes another step back, fighting the urge to wrap her arms around herself.

This is the conversation she doesn’t want to have.

The conversation she doesn’t know how to have.

The questions that stick in her throat

_and sound like the echoes of a baby crying in a hanger that she could’ve sworn she heard even though she was ever so careful to arrive after Melody had already been stolen away._

On the screen over the Doctor’s shoulder Rory moves, one little hand struggling as his eyelids flutter and there’s no sound but she can feel him crying.

And he needs her. Now.

_“The one question,” the man in the snow in her nightmares whispers, “The question you’ve been running from all your life: ‘Did they love you? Did they ever, really, want you?’”_

The technicians hover around Rory, and when they back away he’s still again.

River closes her eyes, “I can’t… do this… with you, when he and Anthony are still there…”

When she looks back at him the Doctor is watching her, carefully, almost gently.

“Please,” she says.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m not!” River swipes quickly at her eyes.

The Doctor sighs, finally stepping back, “I’ve got a plan – that’s why I got you out first, I need you for it.”

_Deep breaths, steady hands and still eyes make a steady aim._

“Alright then.” She frowns, glancing around the console room. “And if you can’t take the Tardis into the base, how are we here right now?”

“I caught a ride.” The Doctor walks to the door and opens it, revealing the inside of a cramped cargo bay.

“We’re parked in a space ship.”

“Investor John Smith’s spaceship, as far as the station we’re docked to is concerned,” he explains.

“Clever. And what is the plan, exactly?”

“Well for starters, I’m going to need you to take me hostage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So are we feeling better about the Doctor now? :)


	45. Chapter 44

 

The Tardis, it turns out, is parked in the hull of a spaceship captained by none other than Jack Harkness – a character River has met but knows mostly by reputation. She’s almost certain he hasn’t met her yet, although it’s hard to tell with his tendency toward too much intimacy. He kisses her hand and calls her “Mrs. Doctor, unless of course you’re a Dalek in disguise, which would be just fine because it’s a very attractive disguise and I enjoy a little danger.” He winks at her over his lips on her knuckles and the Doctor splutters and yells for Clara to come and “babysit Jack.”

“Clara’s welcome too, isn’t she Professor?” Jack says, abandoning her hand but still standing too close, his hand brushing the small of her back as he turns to smirk at the Doctor.

“This is why I don’t like you!” The Doctor practically snarls at him. “Come along,” he continues, catching River under the elbow with too-tight fingers and his face turned away, “let’s find Clara and get on with it.”

“Somebody should be watching the monitor in the Tardis, in case they do something to him while we—“

“ _Really_ , what do you think—“ he stops himself with an exasperated sigh, and pulls a little device out of his pocket, the live feed from the console room displayed on its screen. “I’ve got it set,” he explains, “It buzzes a bit if there’s any movement in the room. Keep it.” She accepts it reverently, tucking it away carefully inside her shirt, as close to her heart as she can get it.

When she looks up she catches him watching her, almost softly like he used to.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Ri—“

He stops himself again and walks on, the moment broken.

He hasn’t said her name yet.

 

 

 ____________________________________________________________________

 

 

 “Well then,” the Doctor turns to face River, twirling his stick, “Now’s your chance – punch me.”

“Is that really necessary?” Clara asks.

“Authenticity, Clara, is important,” The Doctor insists.

“Then why aren’t we having her punch me in the face too?”

“We messed up your hair,” River points out, “That should be enough.”

“Exactly,” The Doctor agrees, “I’m more important so they’ll be paying more attention to me anyway.”

“But I’m not punching you,” River says to him, “You’ll just have to be a better actor than usual.”

From his place lounging in the captain’s chair Jack smirks and says, “Maybe you’d better punch him in the mouth, The Doctor’s a better actor when he’s not talking.”

“Unfortunately, the plan relies on him talking,” River points out.

Clara sighs, “We’re all going to die,”

The Doctor shoots her a look of betrayal, “Everyone’s a critic today. Fine. Jack, you hit me then.”

“Sure.” Jack hops up, pushes his sleeve back and raises his fist but River jumps between them and grabs it before he can land the blow.

_The Doctor flinches, his eyes scrunched up and it’s only comical the time when he doesn’t die, when his eyes open in confusion and – of all things – he protests his survival before the world crumbles around them._

“Fine.” She snaps, “I’ll do it.”

Jack nods, winks and steps back and River takes his place in front of the Doctor.

His eye sight is incrementally better in his left eye, so she focuses on his right, picking out the capillaries and veins she can hit with the least amount of force to cause the least amount of pain while maximizing bruising. 

“Is hitting me going to take all day?” The Doctor asks, taunting, and River hides a wince and grits her teeth,

“Shut up, or I’ll make it hurt more than it has to.”

“You’re good at tha – ow!”

He jumps back from her, clutching his wounded eye.

“A little warning would’ve been nice!”

“What’s the point? You never listen anyway. The bruise should be nice and colorful in 15 minutes.”

Still clasping his eye the Doctor steps in close to River and hisses, “You don’t want to talk right now _fine,_ but the little comments that you aren’t willing to explain are _not_ helping! In case you haven’t noticed, your mother isn’t around to translate!”

“Well aren’t you two just the cutest?” Jack says behind her. “Anyway, how’s this?” he asks, draping himself dramatically across the pilot’s chair again “Do I look dead?”

Ignoring him, River leans in, glaring, her voice softer than his as she snaps, “And who’s fault is that?”

And it’s a truly terrible thing to say.

Terrible and _honest_ and she remembers by the way he recoils like she’d punched him in the stomach this time why honesty is something she avoids with him.

_“Why do you lie?” she asks him, and he wraps her up in his arms and his legs and says in her ear, “To keep us safe.”_

“Nobody dies that beautifully, Jack, you should know that,” River says, turning away from the Doctor and his stricken face.

“I _always_ die beautifully, professor.”

“You really really don’t,” The Doctor argues.

“And why are you pretending to be dead, anyway?” River asks, “They already know I can kill people, and we’ve got plenty of handcuffs,” she raises her eyebrows at him, pointedly, “You know you like the sound of that.”

“Honestly I just wanted to take a nap, but if you’re offering handcuffs…”

“Really?” the Doctor says, “Is this really the right time for stupid flirting? And Jack, you should listen to her, she’s _very_ experienced at pretending to be dead.”

“Hypocrite,” River mutters, drawing a snort of laughter out of Clara who is close enough to hear. They haven’t really had a chance to talk yet, but River had hugged her and told her how glad she was to see her and Clara’s shoulders had relaxed into the embrace.

She thinks, maybe, they might still be friends.

“Fine then, I’ll just be injured,” Jack says, laying himself down behind the chair instead so just his boots are visible. Clara takes over his abandoned seat, kicking his boot lightly, “Your legs are still too elegant looking.”

He crooks a knee awkwardly with a grumble of complaint.

“Come on,” The Doctor says to River over his shoulder as he takes position kneeling on the floor, face to the monitor. River stands behind him, one hand finding his shoulder and the other pressing her gun to his temple. “Be a dear and remember not to pull the trigger, would you?”

“Don’t worry, Doctor. I’ve invested far too much into keeping you alive to pull the trigger now.”

Before he can answer she presses the call button on the monitor and Perfect Teeth is there with his toothpaste-commercial smile. It falters almost instantly.

River smiles, slowly.

“Hello,” she says, “Remember me?”


	46. Chapter 45

 

“So,” he says, shifting his feet awkwardly beside her when Clara and Jack have retreated, “Remember we’ve got to be very careful with the timing.”

“I know.”

He nods, “Good. That’s good. Oh, and the Tardis is a bit… prickly about Clara. Best not to let her help fly. Jack does alright though. Well, honestly she doesn’t like him much either… come to think of it, you’d better do all the flying.”

“It’s not like I need help.”

“Right. Well. Just in case. I thought you should know.”

They’re quiet again, all the very big things they need to say crowding into the small window of time they’re caught in, straining at its edges.

“Before they get here,” the Doctor says, “I thought… well, could I have another look? Before I go?”

River turns and blinks at him, realizing slowly what he’s asking for.

“Of course you can.”

Tucking the gun under her arm, River finds the device tucked away in her top, Rory’s still, small form in the lab glowing softly on the screen.

“Here,” she says, and watches the way his fingers cradle the image, the small smile that softens his face.

“Make sure you get the timing right,” he says again, handing it back to her, “It’s very important.”

“Not nearly as important as you being sure they don’t get around to checking your pulse. Be careful.”

He shuffles his feet, looking down. “Tried that once.”

“No, you didn’t.”

And she has to duck her head too to hide a smile.

_Her favorite time of day is late afternoon, in the summer, when sometimes the sun comes through the window in the room at her parents’ house (they say is hers) just right, and when she closes her eyes it turns the backs of her eyelids to stars._

 “Can you – can you promise me something?” he asks, suddenly.

“I don’t know, depends on the kind of promise you’re looking for.”

“A very big one, I think.”

“Well—“

“Just to be here when this is over. Please.”

_“Are you sure?” Rory asks her one day in the kitchen._

_Through the window River’s been watching the Doctor and Amy in the backyard, wrestling with a garden hose._

_“About what?” she asks, turning her fond smile on him._

_“About… about the Doctor.”_

_“Never,” she says, “He’s completely mad.”_

_“No, I mean, yes he is, but are you sure about… being with him.”_

_“Rory…”_

_“It’s just… it’s not easy,” he comes to stand next to her, staring out at the scene in the garden where a laughing Amy throws her wet hair back from her face, spinning away from the Doctor and the hose, “with people like them, you know… sometimes it feels like you’re always watching through the window, even when they’re right_ there. _”_

_“Rory, she loves you very much.”_

_“I know,” he says, with a sad smile, “but not like I love her.”_

Jack’s voice on the intercom announces, “Head’s up – they’re here.”

River steps back and presses the point of her gun in between the Doctor’s shoulder blades.

The Doctor turns around so her gun is at his chest instead.

“What are you doing?” River asks, glancing nervously at the door which could open at any moment.

“Do you remember when your parents split up? It was only for, I don’t know, five minute or so, so you might’ve blinked and missed it…”

“I remember,” she hisses, “turn around, we don’t have time for this!”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Rory had this _stupid_ idea in his head—“

“Doctor! Turn around _now!”_

“My point is,” he continues, ignoring her, “I can’t make it right if you’re not here.”

“Doctor!”

“And neither can you.”

Behind the Doctor the door starts to open with a hiss of decompression.

“You’ve _got_ to turn around!”

“Promise you’ll be here.”

“Fine! I promise.”

And the Doctor turns around, River stepping in closer with her gun back in position.

“I hate your plan, by the way,” she hisses, and then finishes, quickly, “I’m sorry – you had a right to know about Rory.”

He stiffens, “Shut up.”

“I just thought you should know—“

“If you’re trying to make me feel better before sending me off to possible death you should know that, first of all, I don’t intend to die and, secondly, you’re just making it worse anyway!”

“I’m apologizing!” she hisses.

“Not for the right things!”

The gate opens fully in front of them, revealing Caplum and a handful of other guards pointing their guns at an exhausted looking Anthony in their midst. He looks up, a relieved smile at the sight of River fading to surprise and confusion when her sees and recognizes the Doctor. River catches his eye, incrementally shaking her head.

“About time you got here!” The Doctor says to Caplum.

“So sorry, Mr. Smith, we came as quickly as we could. Professor Song,” Caplum says, “on the count of five?”

“Alright.”

Caplum counts, and on five she gives the Doctor a little push in their direction and the guard behind Anthony gives him a push toward her. River keeps her gun and her eye on the Doctor’s back, and Caplum does the same to Anthony. When Anthony gets to her, she wraps her free arm around his shoulders, holding him close as the door begins to close. The Doctor looks back, and their eyes catch in the instant before it closes completely.

_Please come back._


	47. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! It's a longer chapter though, so I hope that helps a little.   
> Thank you for all of the support and kind words, I don't know how people manage to write whole, real novels without kind strangers on the internet cheering them on after every chapter. Thank you!!!

“Melody!”

Dropping her gun River pulls Anthony into a full embrace, arms tight around him. He hugs her back, not as strong but sincere.

“That was the Doctor, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, yes. It’s part of the plan,” pulling back she takes his face in her hands, noting the gauntness to his cheeks, the lines around his eyes that had been fading prominent again, “Come on.”

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, River leads Anthony into the ship.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, walking backwards in front of him to check him for any sign of injury.

“I don’t think so, they didn’t bother me much.”

River sits him down in one of the crew areas, picking up a medical scanner to check more thoroughly for injuries or surveillance technology.  

“Are we on a space ship?” Anthony asks, staring around the room curiously.

“Yes.”

“It’s not like I imagined. More Star Wars than Star Trek, if you know what I mean. The station was a bit more… Star Trek-y though.”

“Whatever you say dear,” the scans all come back normal and River shuts the device off, happily tossing it aside, “You’re ok,” she says, collapsing in the padded seat beside him and pulling his free hand into both of hers. “I was so worried.”                            

“They hardly bothered with me, really. What about Rory?”

“He’s alright for now but they’re planning on doing something terrible. They won’t have the chance though.”

“Has the Doctor gone to rescue him? Is that why you did the trade?”

“No, I just like you better,” River says, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Cute, but I know you’re lying. He knows who you are now, right?”

River sighs, “Right.”

“And how’d that go?”

“Well I just pointed a gun at his back and handed him over to evil Time Lord hunters, so how do you think?”

“Melody…”

“He was… you know….upset-”

Anthony let’s out a short bark of incredulous laughter,

“ _but,”_ River continues, “we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it. We’ve been a bit busy with the saving you and Rory.”

Anthony smiles at her, “Have I mentioned how much I appreciate that?”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

“So what’s the rest of the plan?”

“We’re waiting for the Doctor right now—“

“This sounds like your other plan that didn’t work… remember, stuck in a hallway being shot at from all sides?”

“Hush, we don’t talk about that plan. Exactly six hours, three minutes and twenty-four seconds from now we are going to fly the Tardis to where they are holding Rory and get him out. Again. And the Doctor too. Probably, if I feel like it.”

“And we’re waiting six hours because….”

“The Doctor needs time to work on the station’s security system. The way they are now, if we flew the Tardis in we wouldn’t be able to fly out again. But at the moment our Time Lord hunting friends think the Doctor is an investor…”

“So they won’t have him under guard and it’ll be easier for him to disable the security system,” Anthony finishes, nodding, “Very clever.”

“Right. To be safe we planned for seven hours from the exchange. He’s going to shut down the security system and then meet us when we pick up Rory, and we’ll all fly away together.”

“Assuming things go according to plan,” Clara says from the doorway, “Which, by the way, they never do.”

Anthony goes still at the sound of her voice, face frozen and pale and his hand in River’s suddenly tight enough to bruise.

_She writes it off as wishful thinking almost as soon as she thinks she sees it, but there is a moment in front of an open tomb when she thinks he hears her, and that if he turned his head just a little, he could see her too._

_“I didn’t say my name.”_

_“No, but I did.”_

“Anthony,” she murmurs, grabbing his upper arms to keep him from turning in his seat and seeing Clara  there behind him, “I’m so sorry, hang on just a moment and I’ll explain.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, which _never_ happens – even over the wail of a teething baby he always hears her, because he turns around anyway, slowly, to face Clara.

“Hello,” Clara says brightly, stepping forward with her hand extended, “I’m Clara, I’m the Doctor’s -  and your sister’s –“ she says, quickly, eyes flickering nervously to River like she’s not sure, “friend.”

Anthony doesn’t answer her, just staring, and River can’t see his face but she watches Clara’s hand fall and confusion replace her bright smile.

“Are you… are you alright?” she asks, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Clarissa?” Anthony asks, voice like a whisper, and, unexpectedly, recognition dawns slowly across Clara’s face.

“You’re… are you… Tony?” she asks. “I’m so sorry, it’s hard to remember them all sometimes… but you…”

She stops, wipes her eyes, “Look at that, I’m crying.” She smiles, “I think she loved you a lot.”

_“You are always here to me.”_

“Anthony,” River says, gently, squeezing his shoulder, “let me explain…”

“Actually,” Clara cuts in, “would you mind letting me?”

River looks at her, surprised. Clara nods, a familiar, determined set to her face. “I’ll explain. It’s better, I think, if I do it. Oh, and I think Jack’s looking for you. Something about guns, I think.”

“Alright,” River says, “Is that alright with you?” she asks Anthony.

“Yes, please,” he says, “We’ll talk later.”

River leans over Anthony’s shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek and whisper, “love you” in his ear, and then she leaves him with the woman who was once his wife.

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Don’t ever get married, Jack.” River says, sitting next to him in the engine room where he’s wiring the explosives.

“Who says I haven’t?”

“You haven’t. And you shouldn’t. It’s….very difficult. ‘Heartbreaking’ I think is the word.”

“Some things are worth getting your heart broken for,” Jack says.


	48. Chapter 47

She really doesn’t need to sleep much, and with worrying about Rory and the Doctor gone and with just a few (of the longest) hours until it was time to move, she hadn’t planned on sleeping, certainly.

Which is why waking up is such a surprise.

Everyone else is asleep – Anthony and Clara on opposite sides of the small lounge room, but facing each other in sleep (and she wonders if they’d fallen asleep that way, or if they’d turned towards each other when the sleep came and the defenses came down).

_ “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you?” River asks Anthony later, when he’s had a nap and changed into a new set of clothes from the Tardis (which he loves and traces his hands along the rails and she knows he’s imagining their parents there so she doesn’t tell him that the console's changed since then.) _

_ He hugs her, “No, Melody. I don’t think I’d have wanted to know.” _

_ She pulls back and studies his face, “Is it hard, seeing Clara?” _

_ He shakes his head but she thinks he’s lying, and she know it when he says, “Not really, I mean it’s not like she’s actually Clarissa, is she? It’s like…. if Clarissa had a secret twin. A much, much younger twin,” He smiles, his brave smile from when he locked his front door and watered the ficus in the entry for the last time, “That’s how I’ve decided to think about it.” _

_ She catches Clara’s eye over his shoulder where she’s stopped pretending not to listen and sees that Clara had heard him by the disappointment on her face. _

The device buzzes again against her skin, and River slips into the hall as she pulls it out. There are people in the room with Rory again, and no sign of the Doctor. It should be a good thing – if they were going to do the nightmare procedure they’d planned, he was supposed to be there per Mr. Smith the Investor’s request. It should be fine – something routine. It should make her feel better that the Doctor isn’t there.

_ “Seven hours is too long,” River insists, “how do you know we have that long?” _

_ “Well…. I don’t. It’s a guess. A very good guess!” he says quickly. _

_ River shakes her head, frustrated, “A guess isn’t good enough! He’s my--” _

_ The Doctor glares at her, lips tight around the unsaid “our”. He turns his back in the tense silence. _

_ “They think I’m an investor,” he says. _

_ “Yes, I remember.” _

_ “And I had two conditions. One was for you and other was that I would get to watch…” _

_ “Oh,” River says, softly, realizing that he’s too clever again then she’s given him credit for.  _

_ “If they start before the seven hours is up, you’ll see me in the room and know.” _

_ He walks toward the door and stops. “I’m not going to let anything happen to him. I though… I thought you would know that.” _

Instead she feels panicked and sick

Something is wrong.

“Wake up,” River says, pressing back into the room without taking her eyes off the screen in her hand, “Something is going on.”

“What is it?” Anthony asks, sleepily.

“They’re doing something to Rory.”

He’s awake instantly.

“Is it the…. the thing they’ve been planning?” he asks.

Clara sits up too, yawning.

“I don’t know yet…”

“Is the Doctor there?” Clara asks

“No….”

There are too many white coats in the room, technicians wheeling in equipment like horror movie set pieces. “This is it. They’re doing it now.”

“But the Doctor… he arranged to be there if they were doing it… you should see him there too.” Clara insists.

River shakes her head, “He’s not there and they’re doing it now. Something’s gone wrong.”

  
  


Jack tries to help her fly and River yells at him to sit down and keep his hands to himself. He doesn’t even dare an innuendo, which means she’s being Very Scary, but it’s taking too much of her concentration to keep her hands from shaking to bother measuring out a softer aspect. She closes her eyes, hands on the console, and lets time and space unfurl like map pages, breathes in the gold dust and reaches for the coordinates.

“When we land,” she says, “Antony and I are going for Rory, we’re going to grab him, get inside the Tardis and lock it down. Clara and Jack, you need to find the Doctor. There’s a good chance you’ll need to get the security system down, quickly. When you get it down, tell the Doctor to signal the Tardis and we’ll come pick you up.”

“Melody,” Anthony says, eyes flickering across the console toward Clara, “How are they supposed to find him?”

“I know my way around a bit,” Clara says, “from earlier when I was here with the Doctor.”

“And Jack is decent enough with a gun,” River agrees, “They’ll be relatively safe.”

Jack dares to smirk, just a little.

Anthony looks for a moment like he’s going to argue, but Clara catches his eye and shakes her head like a secret signal between long-time allies. 

_ “So you remember Anthony?” She asks Clara as they are sorting through Jack’s collection of weapons. _

_ “Of course, men like that don’t come around every twenty or so lifetimes, you know.” _

_ And River knows she got it right when Clara looks wistful. Clara doesn’t often look wistful. _

_ “He’s a lot older than you now,” River points out casually, loading a little hold out weapon carefully before setting it aside in the ‘ready to go’ pile. _

_ “Is he? For some reason I can’t make out how old he looks...” _

_ “They’ve managed to reverse the aging process quite a bit in the future, makes it hard to tell. He’s in his seventies.” _

_ “What?!” _

_ River shrugs, “Not that I’m one to judge anyone for being into older men…” _

It’s the work of ten seconds (relative, of course, in a time machine) to land them in a utility closet a few yards from the lab. 

River is the first out the door, pulling Anthony out beside her to squeeze in the tiny space left in the closet. Clara and Jack press in on the other side of the small space.

Jack steps out into the hall first, gun ready. 

“All clear,” he says, “come on Clara.”

Before she can step out Anthony catches her arm, and River recognizes the weight in the air of important, unsaid things. 

“Be careful,” is all he says and Clara tangles their fingers together for just a moment and says, “you too, Tony.”

_ Anthony is thrilled with the Tardis. She takes him to a few of the more interesting rooms, trying to distract them both while they wait for the Doctor’s signal. In the swimming pool room they run across Clara’s bikini hung to dry on a hook in the wall. _

_ Anthony blushes and looks in the opposite direction. _

_ “You know, she’s not as young as she looks,” River says, “Not now, with all those lifetimes in her head. In fact, I’m willing to bet she might have trouble finding things in common with people her own age.” _

_ He shakes his head vigorously, “I could never…. She’s so young.” _

_ “But you and me we…” _

_ River rolls her eyes and throws Clara’s bikini top at his head, “She fancies you, and she’s essentially the same person you fell in love with years ago. Stop overthinking it.” _

_ Anthony pulls the swimsuit off his face, blushing furiously, “Like you’re one to talk!” _


	49. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close to the end!! Really, only a handful more chapters to go.

Chapter 48

“She’ll be alright,” River whispers, peering around a corridor corner, “Jack is much older than he looks, and very good with his gun _and_ without it.”

“She’d be safer with you,” Anthony insists, and the reproach in his voice makes her feel uncomfortably selfish.

“Clara and I know our way around this place best out of all of us, it made more sense to split us up.” River catches his arm even though she doesn’t need to, hurrying them past a bank of windows before the person at a desk on the other side notices.

_She feels like she’s losing him each time they meet now. He stands closer to her mother now than he stands to her, like his orbit is slowly being pulled in by another sun._

Anthony doesn’t answer, so River just grips his arm a little tighter and says, “I’m sorry.”

When they’ve made it into the lift at the end of the hall Anthony finally answers, staring up at the florescent lights in the ceiling, “I don’t know if I could stand losing her again.”

River bumps his shoulder gently with hers, “I thought she wasn’t the same person.”

“I though he didn’t love you anymore.”

“That’s not exactly what I said….”

“Clara says he does. Very much.”

“Clara doesn’t understand—“

The doors open, and there are two guards on the other side. Casually, River nods politely and tries to step past.

“Hey,” the dark haired man says, baring her way with his large arm, “Aren’t you—Aahh!“

River twists his arm behind his back, breaking off his shout of pain with a blow to the back of the head that leaves him prone and unconscious, half inside the lift. When she looks up his companion has pulled her gun.

“Anthony, get in the lift and keep your head down!” River has just enough time to shout, barely avoiding the other woman’s first shot. She fires again but River is already close enough to knock her hand aside, the shot going wide and taking out the control panel next the lift.

Cursing under her breath as a soft damage alarm sounds, River breaks the woman’s hold on her weapon and uses its hilt to drop her next to her companion.

“Come on, Anthony, we don’t have much time.”

Gingerly stepping over the unconscious guards Anthony asks, “How close are we?”

“We’ve got to take another lift at the end of the hall, but I think that alarm means all the lifts are going to be shut off. Damn woman and her shoddy aim! We’ll have to find another way around…”

They have to duck into an empty room a moment later when a repair crew rushes past, and again a few minutes later when armed guards hurry past.

River sighs, “Looks like they found our dreaming friends.”

 

The roundabout way takes them in to the center of the station, where occupied rooms become more frequent and windows less frequent. A serious looking double door catches her eye and River stops, suddenly, so that Anthony realizes after a few steps she isn’t with him anymore.

“What is it?” he asks, turning back.

“This… I think this is the bridge.”

“Like on the Enterprise?”

River rolls her eyes, “Like the place where shielding can be shut down from.”

“Wasn’t the Doctor going to do that?”

“But he hasn’t and we’re here now… who knows where he is…”

There’s another door across the way, already open. When River looks inside it seems to be some sort of break room, and empty. She pulls Anthony in after her and shuts the door.

“What are we doing?” Anthony asks.

“Calling Jack and Clara. _Quickly.”_

Clara answers the call immediately, whispering, “Hello?”

“Clara,” out of the corner of her eye River sees Anthony smile, “have you found the Doctor?”

“Yes. Where’s Tony?”

“He’s here, he’s fine.”

“Just fine,” Anthony echoes, for Clara to hear, looking pleased.

“Lovely. Um, hello. Yes, we’ve found the Doctor but we haven’t made contact. He’s arguing with that nasty Caplum about seeing Rory. Caplum isn’t letting him, and the Doctor’s been yelling about withdrawing funding for four straight minutes now.”

“Alright, change of plans. We’ve found the bridge and I’m going to drop the shielding. I’m also going to get on the comm and tell everyone they need to evacuate because this station is going to blow up in 26 minutes. They’ll have to move Rory, and that’ll be your chance. My guess is they’ll want to evacuate investor Smith too.”

“Hang on… why are they going to believe that exactly?”

“Because we’re going to blow it up, aren’t we Jack?”

“Yes ma’am, “Jack whispers over the comm, “The bombs we set on my ship are all ready to go. How long do you think it’s going to take you to get into the bridge?”

“Three minutes.”

“Got it, I’ll set the self-destruct for twenty-nine then. Oh, and you owe me a new ship for this.”

“Didn’t you steal the one we’re about the blow up anyway?”

“Fine then, you have to steal another one for me.”

There are fewer people on the bridge than she’d expected and it only takes River two minutes to take them out.

“This is nothing like the bridge of the Enterprise,” Anthony says, sounding disappointed as he looks around. “It’s not even ‘Deep Space 9’ level.”

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be in pieces in twenty-seven minutes.” River clicks on the comm, setting it to broadcast all over the station. She hands Anthony her second gun.

“Stand by the door and shoot anyone who comes in.”

He laughs nervously, “remind me which end to point at the bad guys and I’ll do my best.”

“Attention,” River says into the comm system, her voice echoing back to her from the bridge speakers, “This station will be demolished in twenty-six minutes. You have twenty-six minutes to evacuate. I strongly suggest heading directly for the nearest escape pod or transport shuttle. This is not a drill. Evacuate now or die in twenty-six minutes.”

She clicks it off, looking over at Anthony, “Do you think that was convincing enough?”

“You convinced me,” he says.

The shields take longer to figure out, and she’s interrupted in the middle by a handful of guards. Anthony’s entirely off center shots do nothing but startle both Anthony and the intruders, but River takes them out quickly from her seat.

“I think I’m useless,” Anthony says, abandoning his post to stand behind her.

“You aren’t useless. You’re the only thing keeping me halfway sane at the moment, so I can figure out how to get these shields down.”

Anthony squeezes her shoulder.

 


	50. Chapter 49

 

Chapter 49

River knows her warning worked when they leave the bridge and there is no one waiting there to shoot at them. It gives her time to check on Rory.

On the monitoring device, she watches with her hearts in her throat as people in lab coats strap Rory onto a child-size hovering gurney and follow Caplum out of the room.

_Twenty-one minutes._

River drops the device and smashes it under the heel of her boot.

“What was that for?” Anthony asks.

“They’re moving Rory,” she takes a deep breath, “It’s okay, I figured they would.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Call Clara, find out where they are,” River hands him the communication device.

“I could never get the hang of smartphones,” Anthony complains, fiddling with the device.

“That isn’t a smartphone, Anthony.”

“No, it’s worse, it’s the great, great, great grandchild of a smartphone.”

“Just press the blue button on the screen and talk!” River hisses, directing him quickly back the way they came, “Oh look, they got the lift working again before they ran off to evacuate. How nice.”

Clara answers again, “River?”

“Anthony.” Anthony says, “Er, Tony….hello… are you alright?”

“She’s fine,” River groans, “ask her where they are and what’s going on!”

“Hi River” Clara says, “We’re fine, and we’re following the Doctor and Caplum. It sounds like they’re taking him to some shuttle all the important people will be escaping on.”

“Good, that’s got to be where they’ll take Rory then too. Have Jack ping me with your location when you get there, I’ll bring the Tardis.”

The halls are nearly abandoned, and the worried crew members they do meet barely glance their way on their flight to escape pods and shuttles. It makes the trip much faster, and suddenly they are back in the Tardis, waiting (which is terrible) for Jack and Clara’s location.

 _“Mels,” Amelia groans, catching her by the sleeve and pulling her out from behind the smallest chair in the living room, “You are_ literally _the worst at hiding. Seriously, you’re even worse than_ Rory. _”_

_And when they find Rory a moment later she thinks how happy he looks to be found._

_Me too, she thinks but doesn’t say,_

_And runs away when they do find her._

_But only so far._

The next call comes from Jack. “We’re here,” he says, “Clara and I are hiding in the launch bay, but the Doctor is inside. They took your kid in before we got here. I’ll send you our location.”

____________________________________________________________________

River lands them right next to Jack and Clara, behind a row of machinery facing an expensive looking space shuttle, all smooth lines and bright paint. Clara hugs Anthony quickly and he blushes.

River rolls her eyes at Jack who smirks and shrugs.

“How long ago did the Doctor board?” she asks him.

“Just a couple minutes. What’s the plan?”

“Well, I’m going to sneak in there, shoot people, and get Rory and the Doctor out.”

“Great, I’m coming with you.”

“No. Stay here. I’ll call if I need backup. And I need you to disable the shuttle from the outside. I don’t want it taking off.”

“As in, ever? They won’t have time to get to another…”

“I don’t care. Do you? Is this going to offend your morals?” There’s an angry, defensive edge to her voice that she doesn’t like but Jack doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know it’s not like that. Just don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret later.”

“Believe me, I won’t regret this in the slightest. I don’t know if you’re heard but I’m a psychopath.”

“And I’m an Ood,”Jack says.

“Then you’re a very ugly one.” She’s off and running for the open shuttle entryway before he can respond. Distantly she hears Anthony’s voice raised behind her and Jack’s hissing response.

_Twelve minutes._


	51. Chapter 50

_When they’re all home, and she’s given in and run away from the way Amy keeps staring and darting away from her and clutching the edge of her ugly tunic caked in dried liquid flesh, she goes to him._

_“You left this,” she says, setting is down on the jump seat next to where she’s just materialized._

_“Oh,” he says, circling around it and her and then hovering, almost reaching but not quite and then he’s wiping at his eyes and turning away._

_“I went back and looked … thought I’d lost it.”_

_“I wouldn’t let that happen. Amy thinks it was yours. You told her that didn’t you?”_

_“Well… yes. Suppose I did.”_

_“Doctor. Don’t lie to her when you don’t have to.”_

_“Maybe I did have to.”_

_And she thinks about the way Rory looks so small when he shrugs the long red cloak away, leaving just the slump of his shoulders under a striped T-shirt._

_“You didn’t. It might’ve helped them, hearing about yours..”_

_“It’s not the same, you’re still here. You’re not… gone.”_

_Yet._

_Nine minutes._

The space shuttle on the inside is all understated opulence, smooth lines and automatic drink bars set into the walls. Even the recycled air smells rich.

 “You’re free to go, Mister Smith,” Caplum is saying when River stops out of sight behind the doorway that leads into the passenger lounge, “The…subject isn’t.”

“Better idea,” the Doctor says, “You let the child go home with his mother, and _I_ stay here, with you.”

“And why would we want that?” someone else in the room asks with a cultured accent to match the shuttle.

“Because I’m a Time Lord. A _real_ Time Lord. The very last Time Lord ever, in fact, so I _very much_ recommend you consider my offer.”

“Even if that were true,” not-Caplum says with his rich voice, “You’re not a child. We need a child, and we have one.”

“Yes, but he’s not a real Time Lord. Neither is his mother. They’ve got some human mixed in – that’s why their hair is like that, fun fact. Well, that’s my theory, anyway – so really, what’s better? The very last, real live Time Lord in the _entire universe_ , who knows all about Tardises and time travel… or a tiny person who can’t tie his own shoelaces and is only something like a Time Lord?”

“Sir,” Caplum says, questioning.

 “Alright,” Not-Caplum says to the Doctor, too slow and thoughtful for the urgency of the moment, “What if I agree to let the child go in exchange for you _and_ its mother? Assuming you’re telling the truth, of course. That seems like a reasonable bargain for parents to make. You _are_ it’s father, aren’t you?”

“No deal.” The Doctor snaps, “They both go free. You get the last Time Lord, and I get my family safe. That’s the deal. The _only_ deal.”

River takes a deep, shuddering breath.

_“It’s nice that everyone’s here this year,” Amy says, “The whole family.”_

_Breath out,_

_it’s okay Amy, you’re good, you have to concentrate,_

_it takes a minute to kick in with the_

_writtenheardfelt_

_believe-me-please word._

“That isn’t going to work for me,” River snaps, rounding the corner with her gun at the back of Caplum’s head.

_“What have we got?” The Doctor demands, rounding on Amy, “Tell me, what have we got?”_

_She holds Rory’s hand like her arms are made of thicker stuff than stone and says, “I won’t let them take him, that’s what we got.”_

She glares at the Doctor over Caplum’s shoulder, “Hello Sweetie,” she practically growls. He sort of beams and cringes at the same time, looking at her like she’s a sunrise, like he’s happy and heartbroken and he wants her closer but he wants her safe, and it’s blinding so all she can do is drop her eyes to where Rory is, behind the Doctor

“Well. What sort of time do you call this?” he says softly, tenderly, with olive branch leaves brushing across the lies left bleeding between them.

“You know how the traffic is sometimes,” she says, “Especially when someone forgets to _do their job_.”

“Shield’s down then?” he asks.

_could just slap him, sometimes._

“Of course.”

“Excellent. Knew you would. These _morons_ decided to start without telling me!”

“I noticed.”

He smiles again, “Ha! Knew you would again! Look at that,” he says, turning to not-Caplum with his fingers pressed together gleefully, “Do I know my missus well or what?”

Behind him, Rory seems to break through the fogginess enough to strain in the direction of her voice, “Mummy,” he says and her hearts clench.

 “Hang on, darling, we’re going home soon.”

“No,” not-Caplum says, “he really isn’t. In fact now that you’re all here, I’m more than happy to take home the whole set.”

With her free hand, River pulls out her second gun she’d retrieved from Anthony and points it at him. The two others in the room – guards, she’s assuming by their apparel – click the safety off their guns and try to aim around Caplum and not-Caplum at her.

“Careful,” she says, “You have no idea how much I want to pull these triggers.”

“But I do!” the Doctor declares, gleeful, “she _very_ much wants to shoot you. And honestly,” he shrugs, “I’d really very much like to watch.”

A sharp shot, accompanies by a groaning sound and shaking at their feet alerts her to Jack’s success.

“What was that?” Caplum snaps, and River smiles and shoots him in the thigh. He drops with a scream.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she says.

_Seven minutes._

The guards move to shoot her.

“No!” Caplum shouts, “Don’t shoot her. They’ve just disabled the shuttle. Listen,” he says to River and the Doctor, teeth gritted, “You clearly have a way out of here. Take us with you and you can take the…child. No questions asked.”

“She’s not convinced,” the Doctor says for her, “Dead men generally ask very few questions,” he smirks at River and tugs at his jacket, “Mind you there are always notable exceptions.”

“Not to mention we’re not letting you any closer to an actual Tardis than you are right now,” River says.

 “You have a Tardis?” Not-Caplum asks.

“None of your business,” the Doctor says.

“Must be yours,” he continues, focusing on the Doctor, “I understand you’re upset about your… family,” he’s talking faster now.

_Six minutes._

“But so am I. This isn’t just about power… it’s about love. Surely you can understand--”

“This isn’t love,” River snaps.

“It is though!” he insists, “There was a war… my whole family…”

River catches the Doctor’s eye again,

“I tried, with just a vortex manipulator, to fix it but…”

“It didn’t work,” the Doctor finishes.

“No, it didn’t. But with a Tardis…. With a Tardis I can _change_ time, even the… the sticky moments…”

“Those are called ‘fixed points’” the Doctor says, “and yes, you can change them, and, you know, rip a gaping whole in the fabric of the universe that will unravel into utter chaos and death for all of time, while you’re at it.”

The man’s uncanny calm breaks suddenly, a wildness coming to his eyes as he screams, “THERE SHOULD BE NO UNIVERSE WITHOUT THEM!”

River holds the Doctor’s gaze, suddenly feeling old, like him. So much older than a very young woman on a pyramid so long ago.

_Some things can’t be changed, no matter how much you want them to._

“That isn’t your choice to make,” she says, softly.

Not-Caplum snatches the gun from one of the guards at his side and shoots wildly toward River, “ _Witch,”_ he snarls.

His aim is terrible, but his shooting is so wild River is afraid he’ll hit Rory or the Doctor, who is bent over, shielding Rory with his body and pulling at the restraints they have him caught in. She can just hear the hum of the Doctor’s voice, soft and urgent and comforting.

The remaining guard retreats, making a hasty exit.

River steps back, breathes out, finds the calm empty place

_Like a lake in a desert_

_Like a fixed point, solid and unchanging._

And shoots the gun out of his hand.

_Five minutes._

“Doctor!” she yells, but he’s already loosed Rory, scooping him up against his chest, and for a handful of seconds, as he holds Rory for the first time, River sees that look on his face, that center-of-the-universe feeling, and she wishes she could stop time again for him.

_She had a dream once that the Doctor was there in the hospital with her; that he was sitting in a chair next to the bed with the sunlight coming in through the window behind him and setting the soft fuzz on Rory’s head alight._

_Don’t wake me up, let’s just stay like this._

The well-dressed man lunges at the Doctor and Rory, but the Doctor steps aside and River shoots his leg.

“What’s your name?” The Doctor asks, looking down at him as he groans and cries on the floor.

“Malley Shortenson,” he snarls.

“Where was your home?”

“Rinwald 5,” the man spits, glaring.

“Rinwald 5,” the Doctor echoes, “Wasn’t that a war between human settlers and the Henlians – the native population?”

“They killed my family!”

“Doctor,” River says, reaching for him, “Three minutes!”

“They were protecting theirs,” the Doctor says to Malley Shortenson, holding Rory a little closer.

He steps over him, face still as stone, and takes River’s hand. Rory strains for her, whimpering softly, so she takes him from the Doctor and tucks his head under her chin and breathes in through his matted red curls.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the Doctor says to Shortenson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what? They're all together again!!! Finally!!!


	52. Chapter 51

“Hurry!” Clara calls from the Tardis doorway as she sees them exiting the shuttle. The Doctor catches her hand fingers tangling.

_Four minutes_

“Stop!” someone yells, and a warning shot in front of them stops them short. One of the guards stands by the side of the shuttle, next to the damaged engine.

“You take us with you,” he yells, “or I’m shooting the kid!” River turns Rory away, putting as much of herself between the gun and him as she can.

Before they can do anything else, he’s tackled from behind by the other guard from the shuttle.  The gun goes skidding across the floor out of reach.

The second guard looks up from where she has her struggling counterpart pinned to the floor,

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her face pained “I didn’t know…”

“Thanks,” the Doctor snaps, catching River’s hand again and starting back toward the Tardis.

_Two minutes_

_The only water in the forest_

_Embroidered with gold thread and she wonders where a soldier found something so lovely._

River stops, the Doctor’s momentum pulling at their tangled fingers.

“What are you _doing_?” he asks, tugging lightly.

River lets go of his hand to hold Rory even closer, closing her eyes, “I love him so much it _hurts_ ,” she says.

“Come _on_ then!”

She opens her eyes, stares him down, “We can’t leave her.”

“You _cannot_ be serious!”

“Hey!” Clara calls again, “Can whatever you’re doing wait? We’ve got less than two minutes here!”

“You saw what they were going to do – to a child! To _our_ child!”

“What if Shortenson had them all convinced they were _saving_ other children—“

“That doesn’t make it alright!”

“Of course it doesn’t! But this isn’t what you do.”

“Well _this_ isn’t what _you_ do! Why now? Why is _this_ the moment you decide to be so merciful?!”

“Because,” she says, closing her eyes because she has to _remember_

_“Look at you, you still care.”_

_“Find her. Find River Song and tell her something from me.”_

_“Tell her what?”_

_And his stuttering breath feels like death against her ear when he whispers_

_Those words that_

_Are everything._

River opens her eyes, meeting his old, sad, angry

 _wonderful, starlit, “yes, yes he’s worth it”_  

eyes, “everything matters so much more now.”

“ _HEY!_ ” Clara yells, “One minute! Come on already!”

The Doctor glances over her shoulder toward where the guards are, indecision on his face.

“Lorna Bucket,” River whispers.

He throws his hands up in the air brushing past her, “Fine! Go on ahead.”

“Doctor—“

“Go on ahead with Rory _now_ or I’m not saving them!” he shoots over his shoulder.

 

As soon as they’re through the door it seems that the last of the drugs in Rory’s system wear off and he starts to cry in earnest, arms tight around River’s neck and tiny shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Where’s the Doctor?” Jack asks

“Right behind me.”

“He’d better be, we’ve got 23 seconds!”

Anthony rushes over, kissing Rory’s head, and wrapping them both up in a hug.

The Doctor flies through the door, dragging the baffled guards behind him and shouting something to Jack about coordinates.

They take off with a whole nine seconds to spare and River counts them down in her head.

“Who are they?” Clara asks.

“No one,” River snaps, glaring at the guards who are staring around the room in wonder, “they’ll be getting off at the next black hole.”

The other woman’s eyes widen and she glances nervously between River and the Doctor at the console.

“Really?” she asks.

_“I killed someone,” Amy says, “What does that make me?”_

_My mother, she thinks but doesn’t say,_

_I killed someone too._


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter 52

“Maybe not a black hole,” the Doctor says, arms braced on the console, “but probably somewhere unpleasant.”

“Fair enough,” the more likeable of the guards says while the other stares around in terror, “this is a Tardis, isn’t it? A real one?”

The Doctor catches River’s eye, and the sudden stillness, the relief and the _safety_ finally catch up with her and her knees feel a little weak, Rory growing suddenly heavy against her hip, the damp of his tears and his dripping nose on her shoulder the only urgent thing left.

“I’ve got to go take care of him,” River says. The Doctor looks like he wants to say something, but just nods and looks back down instead.

“What should I do with _them_?” he asks, nodding toward the guards.

“Ask Clara.”

“Me?” Clara asks.

“Because you’re the companion,” Jack says.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Anthony asks River softly, and she smiles and shakes her head.

“Stay and help Clara keep us kind,” she says, squeezing his hand.

River carries Rory into the Tardis, pushing through the first door that she knows is hers _theirs_ , soaking in the comforting hum in the walls that seems to seep into Rory too.

She sits on the bed, pulling away from Rory enough to see his face. He blinks at her, looks around at the bedroom.

“Singing,” he says, wiping at his sticky nose “Like Mummy.”

“What’s she singing, baby?”

“Safe,” he says, “Blue.”

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” River strokes his curls back from his face, looking for injuries, “Did the bad people hurt you, my love?”

“Yes,” he says, holding out a pudgy arm, “here, they pinch me.”

There’s a series of little holes and bruising inside his elbow and his wrist. River kisses them, unfurling regeneration energy into the wounds.

It all came from him anyway, and it settles under his skin easily, knitting the blood vessels together and the little needle marks.

“There now, better?”

Rory nods, smiling.

“Anywhere else?”

“Here too,” he says, pointing to his temples, where she sees when she pushes back his hair the skin is red and raw. She kisses there too, gold gathering and soothing the skin.

“Where else, love?”

“All over,” he says, curling back into her, reaching out with his little mind so she can feel the fear and the helplessness and the _where is mummy?_

_“It’s here! The spaceman is here – it’s going to eat me!”_

“I’ll always come for you, sweetheart. Mummy is _always_ coming after you.”

 

After a bath (with a plethora of rainbow bubbles that seemed to appear out of the water and a fleet of toy ships that turned up unexpectedly in a cabinet that usually only held towels) River wraps Rory up in one of her old shirts from the closet and tucks them both into the too-big bed. She strokes his hair and tells him the story about the polar bear until he falls asleep.

“Give him good dreams,” she whispers to the walls that used to help her fight her own nightmares, and she drifts off herself.

_“Let’s get you home.”_

_She loops her free arm through Amy’s, feeling all the bones too close to the skin, the mottled needle marks visible on the underside of her wrist. Standing so close, she can feel her weariness too - her tired body and her too empty arms, the way her legs, unused for months, shake._

_“Let’s be extra careful,” she says, wrapping her arm tight around Amy’s shoulders instead, tucking her close as she can._

_For a moment before they snap way Rory catches her gaze and looks at her that way he does when he sees things other people miss._

“You’ve got to stop doing this,” she whispers, eyes still closed, knowing the Doctor’s joined them.

“Well…you’re always sleeping when I need to talk to you,” he whispers back.

She opens her eyes to glare at him in the dimly lit room.

Ignoring her, the Doctor moves to the edge of the bed next to Rory, sitting softly so as not to jostle the mattress.

“How is he?”

“Frightened, but physically he’s alright.”

The Doctor bends close to Rory’s hand, thrown out over the covers, and breathes in, “What did you do?” he asks, echoing her line from a day before, staring up at her through his fringe.

“It all came from him anyway,” she props herself up on an elbow.

He raises an eyebrow, “whereas mine came from…”

“Shut up. He’s my baby, it’s different.”

The Doctor cups her cheek, catching her by surprise, “It really isn’t,” he insists, startlingly gentle. He drops his hand and his eyes at the same time, fidgeting with the bedspread. “We need to talk.”

She drops her gaze back to Rory, “I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

And she’s so tired herself, in a way she so rarely is, feeling the weight of her eyelids even now.

“I know,” he says, “Go back to sleep, I’ll see you when you wake up,”

_And she thinks when her eyes are closed and_

_there’s just gold edges fading behind her eyelids_

_he might’ve_

_whispered_

_“River.”_


	54. Chapter 53

 

_He’s standing dimly lit in front of the console the way she remembers him standing in front of his tomb. That same furious helplessness in the way his hands clench around the edges of the monitor, bent forward at the waist like he can crawl through to the image on the screen or bow low enough to convince it to change._

_And she would feel like a ghost again, hovering over his shoulder, except he’s seeing her, watching her on the screen, cornered in the hallway with her baby and her brother, waiting for a rescue that can’t come yet._

_He makes a terrible, gasping noise deep in his throat when the bolt gets through and sinks into her thigh, and another when the stun bolts hit and all three of them collapse._

_‘I’m coming’, his mind whispers against hers now that she’s close enough to hear, and she thinks it’s with an ‘always and completely’._

 

When she wakes up Rory isn’t there and for a moment all she feels is sheer terror.

But there’s a note, thoughtfully pinned to the lampshade so she can’t miss it.

_Calm down, I’ve got him. We didn’t want to wake you._

“You should’ve woken me,” she mutters, glaring at the note.

River doesn’t bother searching the closet for clothes that fit, setting out in her ill-fitted old pajamas.

The console room is empty but the front door is half open, and she sees a broken swing and a green lawn and her house with the blue door.

“Oh,” she says.

Through the back door, the kitchen is spotless, without any sign that not long ago it had been in shambles with a man bleeding on the floor. The living room is the same, and Clara is on the sofa with a sandwich and Anthony’s old photographs.

“Hi,” River says.

“Oh you’re awake! Hi, um… what should I call you? I mean, not ‘Mo’, obviously, but you were River before and now Tony calls you ‘Melody’ and come to think of it your mum did too – isn’t that funny? I knew your mum…” she trails off with an awkward chuckle.

“Honestly, it doesn’t really matter… what you call me, I mean, not my mother.”

“Right, of course… would you like a sandwich? Wait, sorry, this is your house…”

“It’s fine… where is everyone?”

“Jack’s gone to take Tamira and Andolf home– those are the guard you and the Doctor saved – Tony’s gone to see a friend of yours – Doctor ‘something’- and _the_ Doctor’s upstairs…with Rory. They’re getting on _really_ well. You should probably know - Rory figured out who he is – he sort of stuck their foreheads together and started calling him ‘Daddy’ just like that. Nice to know you lot are a bit telepathic, by the way.  Would’ve been awful nice to know earlier, just saying….”

“Clara… “ River says perching awkwardly on the edge of an arm chair facing her, “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she says, “Really, Tony’s been telling me about how it was for you, and I understand.”

“Oh. That’s nice of him.”

“We’ve, um, decided we’re basically still married. I mean, we both remember it and we still feel the same so…” Clara smiles.

“That’s wonderful, I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks. I mean, we’ll have to figure out how to make it all work but… the important thing is that we still want to be together, you know?” she says, looking at River pointedly.

“That is the important thing,” River agrees. “Do you know how my house got so fixed up?” she asks, changing the subject and looking around at her clean, put together living room, looking better than it has probably since Rory started crawling “It was a disaster when I left.”

“I think the Doctor popped back in time a couple hours and fixed it, he hasn’t owned up to it though, he just got all shifty and twitchy when Tony mentioned how nice it looked,” Clara winks, “You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“So…” Clara continues, “You going to go see the Doctor and Rory?” River settles back into her chair,

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“No…. just thought you’d like to see them.”

“I would. I like seeing you to though.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes. You’re my friend. And apparently also my sister-in-law.”

Clara smirks and crosses her arms, “And the Doctor’s my brother-in-law, right?”

“You _really_ want me to talk about the Doctor, don’t you?”

Clara shrugs, “or to him.”

Anthony opens the front door, talking quickly and excitedly to the person behind him about recent medical advances in limb re-growth. Doctor Reed follows him in.

 “Professor Song!” Doctor Reed says, and like the house he looks altogether better than the last time she’d seen him, and with a laugh of relief she walks into his outstretched arms.

“You’re alright!”

“Of course I’m alright!” He steps back, holding her shoulders, “What about you? And Rory? Anthony filled me in on the way over.”

“I’m so glad you’re here—“

“Hello,” The Doctor says loudly, trotting down the stairs with Rory bouncing happily on his back, “Don’t think we’ve met.”

He’s glaring. Rather specifically at Doctor Reeds hands on her shoulders.

“Doctor ‘Eed!” Rory declares, wiggling down from the Doctor’s back. He runs the short distance to where they are standing and wraps his arms around Reed’s knees and grins, pointing back at the Doctor, “My daddy,” he says.

Doctor Reed’s eyes go wide, looking between the Doctor and River. “Oh really,” he picks Rory up carefully, ‘’Um, Professor…”

“Right, sorry, let me introduce you—“ River says quickly.

“Yes, won’t that be lovely,” the Doctor says,

“Doctor Reed, this is…. the Doctor—“

“My daddy,” Rory repeats. Doctor Reed looks at her questioningly and River nods.

“Well that’s…. nice to meet you,” Doctor Reed says stiffly, moving like he’s going to shake the Doctor’s hand, “I’m Professor Song and Rory’s doctor.”

Which is exactly the wrong thing to say, “No,” he says, “You’re not,” ignoring the outstretched hand.

Behind them River hears Clara groan softly.

“Yes I am,” Doctor Reed says, dropping his hand and a little bit of his forced civility, “In fact I’m here to take a look at Rory,” he jostles him lightly on his hip, drawing a giggle as he turns his attention to him, “because I hear there was a bit of an adventure and some very bad people.”

Rory holds out one of his arms and points at the unmarked skin inside his elbow, “They made me ‘ouch’ docor ‘eed.”

“But it’s alright now, isn’t it Rory?” The Doctor says, “Mummy fixed it and we’re all good now. Thanks so much, the door’s right there behind you  - you know – where you came in-”

 “Thank you for coming, Taryn,” River says, cutting him off and catching Doctor Reed’s free elbow, “Would you like to use the kitchen? I’ll join you in a moment.”

Doctor Reed turns to face her, blocking out the Doctor behind him, “Would you like to join us now? Maybe… step out for a moment?” he glances worriedly over his shoulder in the Doctor’s direction, bending close and River can see the way the Doctor is glaring at his back.

“Everything is alright,” she says softly, squeezing his arm and smiling, “Be good for Doctor Reed darling,” River says to Rory, pressing her forehead briefly against his. There’s an image there instantly of the fort he and the Doctor had built in his bedroom,

“Building a castle, mummy,” he says, with _safe walls home dappa_ written across the memory, and she hums happily, pressing _love_ back.

“Go on now,” she says, pulling back.

She watches them disappear into the kitchen, waving at Rory over Doctor Reed’s shoulder. When she turns around the Doctor is standing close, glaring.

“Tony,” Clara says quickly, standing from her seat and grabbing Anthony’s arm, “let’s see if they need any help.”

“I don’t think—“

“Now,” Clara says, pulling him behind her.

“So,” the Doctor says, “You’ve got a special doctor.”

“Yes. He’s brilliant, and he’s been very helpful—“

“You stole a bunch of medical things from the Tardis.”

“That’s right,” River crosses her arms, “And Doctor Reed did a damn good job with them.”

“Ha! He couldn’t have done _anything_ for either of you without the things you stole from _my_ Tardis!”

“Well you couldn’t have done anything for us _with_ them!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?”

“I could’ve helped!”

“You could’ve helped fifteen years ago!” She steps back from his stricken face, closing her eyes.

“I really need to change out of my pajamas,” River says and _does not_ run away upstairs.

 

In her room, the door to her secret armory still sits open, the guns and grenades and poisons inside the only part of the house not put back in their places; evidence enough that it was indeed the Doctor who came and put her home back together.

River closes the door but the tasks of putting on clothes and fixing her hair suddenly seem overwhelming. She sits on her nicely made bed, back against the wall and knees to her chest facing the glass French door so the afternoon sunlight warms her face.

Everyone is safe.

Most the people she loves best in the universe are under the roof of this little home she carved out for herself and it’s wonderful and terrifying all at the same time.

_The cat doctor only tells her what she already knew, what she’d already felt in the fluttering dawn of consciousness reaching for her out of the depths of her own body._

_“Are you sure?” she asks anyway against the terror, against the image of that empty cot and the way the Doctor holds babies like he was born to and Amy could hardly stand to look at them._

_“Yes,” the cat doctor says, “Congratulations professor Song!”_


	55. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last chapter!! And then there's an epilogue and that's it! These last few chapters have been very tricky to write, I've been through several drafts and re-arranged things so.many.times. So hopefully they work :)

 

Chapter 54

When she joins them in the kitchen Jack’s returned and is flirting with a flustered Doctor Reed.

“As a Doctor,“ Jack says, catching River’s eye with a smirk as she comes in, “Would you say you use your hands a lot?”

Doctor Reed almost drops the heart monitor he’s holding against Rory’s back, “Well… I… um…”

“I have a feeling _the_ Doctor does,” he continues, “Am I right professor?”

The Doctor, sulking from his seat on a countertop looks over at her and then quickly away, his face reddening.

“How about you just worry about your own hands, Jack,” River says, “Keep them to yourself.”

“No promises,” he says, “Sometimes they’re in high demand.”

“Well,” Doctor Reed says quickly, setting the monitor down, “I think we’re good here. Professor if we could…”

“Yes, let’s step outside.”

The Doctor follows them out onto the back porch, Doctor Reed looks at him warily, “If you don’t mind, this is a private conversation.”

“I do mind. A lot.”

“Doctor…”

“It’s about Rory, isn’t it? I’m staying.” He crosses his arms stubbornly, glaring at one of the porch posts where, River remembers, Doctor Reed had kissed her.

Reed glares at him, “River,” he says, “Seriously, have you considered calling the police? The Time Agency?”

“Why would she do that?” the Doctor demands.

“Clearly she doesn’t want you around and I’m sure there’s a good reason!” Doctor Reed growls, “You can’t just push your way in now—“

“This is _my_ family—“

“You haven’t been here!”

“Alright,” River says quickly, “Doctor, I’ll fill you in later, can you please just…” she gestures toward the back door.

“Not a chance.”

“ _Three_ minutes, Doctor.”

“Why?”

“Please!”

With a final glare and a grumble he goes back inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

River rubs between her eyes where an ache is forming, turning back to Doctor Reed.

“Taryn, he’s not a bad man. I know I might’ve… given that impression but he’s not. It’s just very complicated.”

Doctor Reed looks unconvinced.

“He helped me save Rory and Anthony – that’s why he’s here now. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.

“Then why’ve you been hiding from him?” Doctor Reed asks.

“It’s complicated.”

Doctor Reed sighs, “Seems like. You know he’s not at all what I imagined.”

“I know the feeling. And Rory?”

“Very healthy. And given the amount of stress he was under I think it’s safe to say he’s out of the woods,” Doctor Reed smiles at her.

“That is very good news.”

“Professor… it’s none of my business of course but… is _he_ going to be staying?”

“I… don’t know. We haven’t really had a chance to talk.”

Doctor Reed nods and looks away from her, out at the back yard and the blue box next to the broken swing, “Do you want him to?”

 

 

The Doctor pulls her aside when they return to the kitchen, “What woods?” he asks.

“Don’t eavesdrop! And I’ll explain later,” River says, “Rory was sick.”

“Figured that, considering half my medicine cabinets were cleaned out.”

“Not like you were using them.”

Doctor Reed, seemingly not quite convinced the Doctor is safe, catches River’s arm, “Maybe we should take a look at you too—“

“She’s fine,” the Doctor says.

“I think she can decide that for herself,” Doctor Reed says.

The Doctor crosses his arms, “I know she’s fine. I fixed her. You wouldn’t understand.”

Doctor Reed looks at her, questioningly, and she smiles gently, “He’s right, actually. I’m fine too. What about you? You weren’t in good shape last I saw you.”

“They fixed me up quick,” he says.

“I’m glad,” and she hugs him, ignoring the furious Doctor, “Stay for dinner?”

“Of course.”

 

 

She tucks Rory in, snuggled up next to him in his narrow bed under glowing stars stuck to his ceiling with his favorite book and stuffed polar bear.

Rory’s half asleep when his eyes fly open, landing on the Doctor come to stand in the bedroom doorway, “’my addy,” he says, reaching for him “night night time.”

“Yes, I noticed,” he says, perching himself on the foot of the bed and bending to read the Gallifreyan book cover River’s holding, “Oh, I wonder where mummy got this book from?” he says, his mouth a thin line.

“Arch’ogy!” Rory supplies, “Find the old things!”

“More like grave robbing. Found this too,” he brandishes the sonic screwdriver she’d stolen from him years ago, “In mummy’s drawer.”

“Mummy’s special stick!” Rory tells him.

“Oh really?”

River gives him a warning look, “This book came from daddy, sweetheart. I’m _sure_ he wanted you to have it.”

“Course I did,” he pockets the screwdriver.

Rory grins.

“Read the book peese daddy!””

The Doctor’s eyes light up.


	56. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it - the final chapter! And The Talk. Making it not too sappy and in character and enough to resolve everything was really challenging, so I hope it works! 
> 
> There is going to be an epilogue which I'll have up pretty soon, so keep looking for that.
> 
> Also, since this is the last chapter I'm going to nerd out for a moment and get into why I wrote the characters and the story the way that I did, feel free to skip the rest of this note:
> 
> While writing a lot of this story I was writing my graduate thesis, and I'm realizing now how much my thesis actually influenced this story. I wrote my thesis on attachment theory (which is really fascinating! There's a book called 'Attachments' - it has a yellow cover on Amazon - if you're interested I recommend it) which basically describes how early childhood experiences shape the way people form relationships later in life. River is actually a really interesting (although fictional, so limited) case study. River had pretty much the worst start at life a person could have. In real life, she'd be relationally crippled (psycopath and sociopath, most likely) and a person like the Doctor who isn't clear about his affections and is sometimes distant would actually make the situation significantly worse. In real life their relationship would be a disaster. So I think a lot of this story was sort of exploring that dynamic and also giving her some stable and dependable relationships (Anthony and Rory) which would help overcome some of the attachment issues she would have, and help her eventually reunite with the Doctor in a more healthy place and hopefully set them up for a more functional relationship.
> 
> Additionally, it seems to me that Rory and River are a lot alike and Amy and the Doctor are a lot alike and their relationships sort of mirror each other in a way: Rory always though Amy loved him less and River always thought the Doctor loved her less. Both Rory and River were incredibly loyal and obvious about their affection for Amy and the Doctor the whole time, while Amy and the Doctor left you wondering sometimes. Of course, I think it was apparent in the long run that they were both just as invested in the relationships as River and Rory, but in cannon we saw both Rory and River really struggle with the relationships at one point (Rory in Asylum of the Daleks and River in the Husbands of River Song) so I wanted to highlight that dynamic with the flashbacks and give the Doctor and River the same sort of resolution Amy and Rory got in Asylum. Of course Husbands of River Song did that in cannon but when I started writing this story that hadn't happened yet. 
> 
> As you can see, I probably put way too much thought into this and I think that's part of why it took so long to write. Thank you for your patience!

 

He acts out half of the book, and River is convinced Rory will never sleep again, he’s laughing and shouting so much. But at the end of the book, the quiet bit, the Doctor sits back down next to Rory, his voice low and cajoling, and by the last word Rory’s eyes are closed, breathing deep and even. She watches from the doorway the Doctor arrange Rory’s polar bear under his arm, pulling his rocket-ship patterned blankets up around his chin, kissing his forehead and one tiny hand.

She watches until she realized her vision is blurring with tears and takes herself downstairs before she can ruin a moment that should’ve happened a thousand times by now.

“So, how’d I do?” he asks, when he finds her “Keep in mind I’m a bit out of practice.”

The back of her chair is to him and she wipes at her eyes quickly.

“Well you didn’t cheat. That was impressive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That thing you do, with the head tapping.”

“Oh, right, that. Not cheating, that is _skills._ ”

She can feel the way he lingers, picture the restless, gawky movement of his limbs as he tries to decide whether to come around and face her or not.

It’s unbearable.

Like he’s young again.

“Tea?” River asks, standing quickly.

“Well… I—“

“Lovely. Have a seat then and I’ll just be a mo.”

“No!” he catches her arm, startling her enough that her reflexes kick in and she’s spinning around with a fist raised. She catches herself in time to stop the blow but not to hide her face and he’s studying her, close and warm and _breathing._

“You sit,” he says, “I’ll get the tea.”

“It’s my house.”

“Yes….well,” he drops his gaze, fidgeting, “I’m getting a bit tired of seeing your back.”

Its more honest than he usually is and the fight goes out of her, fist dropping and his hand on her arm goes gentle too, “Not that it isn’t a nice back,” he finishes, managing a shadow of his old smiles.

_“You’ve got that face on again.”_

He disappears into the kitchen and she stands there in the center of the room, feeling suddenly like a stranger in her house with the Doctor in her kitchen and she’s fighting the urge to run.

_The walls keep whispering ‘home’ and she tries to tell them she doesn’t know what that means, but they wrap around her anyways._

He pokes his head around the corner, like he can feel the way the front door pulls at her.

“How do you take it now?”

“With milk,” it used to be black, and she’d tease him about his several spoonful’s of sugar.

“Ha!” he says, head disappearing again.

She sits on the sofa this time and reaches for the handheld computer they keep on the coffee table. It’s full of photos and videos he’ll want to see and she loses herself in them for a few minutes.

“Here you are,” the Doctor’s made her tea in her second favorite mug (patterned with wildly incorrect Egyptian hieroglyphs). She’d had one just like it before, on the Tardis somewhere still, probably.

“What’s that? He asks, sinking down into the chair closest to her and fidgeting it around so he’s closer still.

“Pictures and videos. Of Rory. I thought you’d like to see…”

He takes a long drink and sets his cup down in his lap.

“Maybe later.”

“Doctor,” she starts again, I-“

“What was wrong with him? With Rory?”

“Doctor Reed called it prenatal cardiac arrest. He would… panic and his hearts would stop. He’d regenerate.”

“Like he did when you came out of the Library mainframe.”

“Yes. I think that’s what triggered it. He was perfectly healthy before…”

“Before you died,” the Doctor finishes.

_“You wouldn’t have a chance and neither do I!”_

The Doctor flinches, like he’s remembering too. “How many times?” he asks.

“Eight total, but we had a few close calls too.”

"When I found you in the Tardis library...?"

River nods and he looks angry and sick.

“Has it happened since he was born?”

River shakes her head, “No. We had two close calls before he was a year old, but the treatment Doctor Reed was able to create has worked very well. He saved his life.”

“I could’ve helped.”

“You did help. You just didn’t know you were helping.”

He squeezes his eyes closed, pressing his palms into them, “ _Why_ ?” he asks, “Why wouldn’t you _tell_ me? And not just that you were alive, before that, why didn’t you tell me you were _… expecting?_ ”

_“Why did you lie to me?”_

_“When one is in love with an ageless god who insists on the face of a 12 year old, one does one’s best to hide the damage.”_

“I tried! But you were always so young… that picnic, on Asgard? But then you turned up with your pretty face – “

He drops his hands, “Oi!”

“Oh you know what I mean!”

“Darillium then! Why wouldn’t you have told me at Darillium?”

“I was going to until you started _crying!”_

“You should’ve told me anyway!”

“And then where would we be? You wouldn’t have let me go, and then you would’ve died hundreds of years ago and Rory never would’ve even happened! Or, worse, you would’ve _let_ me go and had to live with it...”

“You didn’t know that then!”

“You think I can’t tell when you’re saying goodbye!?”

He freezes, staring.

“You were sending me off to my death, how could I possibly have told you then?”

He’s searching her face for something, “You knew.”

“Of course I knew.”

He looks down again,“Then what happened?” he asks.

“You know what happened.”

“Tell me anyway. Tell me about the Library.”

“There were no good options. So I did what I did. The end.”

“Not the end, then what happened?”

“Why are you asking me to tell you things you already know?”

“Because! I’m trying to understand. I’m – you know - listening. Tell me what happened in the mainframe.”

“Nothing happened, really. It was the mainframe. I was dead.”

“That’s not true. Trenzalore happened.”

“Tell it yourself then!” River goes to stand and he catches her arms, the movement bringing his face close, his thumbs pressing into her biceps.

“What did you do in the mainframe?” he asks again, insistent.

_“Look into my eye.”_

_“Amy Pond, the girl who waited.”_

_"I waited for you. 2000 years, I waited."_

“Don’t,” she says, “you won’t like it.”

“ _The world is dying and it’s my fault and I can’t bear it another day. Please, help me.”_

“That doesn’t matter if it’s true.”

He leans forward, his thumbs on her arms tracing soft, insistent little lines across her skin and his forehead against her.

“Where’s the damage?” he whispers, “ _Please.”_

_“That must hurt.”_

_“Yes, the wrist is pretty bad, too.”_

“I waited for you,” she whispers back like a confession, feels his hands tighten on her arms, “I thought you would come back for me, but you never came.”

She thinks she’s holding her breath, waiting for him to pull back, run away. But he doesn’t and against her mind she thinks it feels like raining. She thinks the rain is making mud and it’s holding his feet in place and his hands around her arms.

_Inexplicably he is holding an umbrella over her head, eyes laughing and arm out for her like a proper old gentleman._

“Ask me why,” he says.

“I already know why.”

“No, you don’t. You _think_ you know. And that’s why you ran, wasn’t it? But I came this time, I’m here now…. so maybe you’ve got it wrong.  So be sensible, and ask my why… River.”

And it’s the first time he’s called her by her name in such a long time.

_“Didn’t you used to be someone?”_

_“Aren’t you the woman who killed the Doctor?”_

_“Doctor who?_

“Alright. Why?” She asks, and she knows by the way the lightning flashes in the rain against the backs of her eyelids that she’s asking him for his damage.

His hands drop down and find hers, curling around them on her knees.

“I’ve failed you so many times,” he says, “I do pretty well most the time. With other people. With whole _planets_ . But not with you. From the very start of your life I’ve just kept failing with you. And I was _terrified_ that if I spoke to you or-or tried to get you out and failed, if I got too _close_ it would be like reading that last page …so I didn’t. I ran away. And it was selfish.”

And the rain is dripping down his face a little.

“I should’ve known,” he continues, “You’re so much like him – like your dad sometimes, and I’m never good at this… and this _face_ ,” He runs his hands over it, ducking his head to pull at his hair, “Is so _very_ not good at being….”

He sighs, long, raising his head slowly, “I should’ve known you didn’t know that I – that you’re _everything_ River.”

_“The last time you were in this suit,” Kovarian says, “Your own mother shot you.”_

_And she remembers that, a little. Terror and red hair and pain._

_“Do you know why?”_

_The suit is eating the air right out of her lungs and she can’t respond, can only gag and fight and try to remember._

_“Because you’re a monster,” Kovarian says, gently, proudly, as she runs her hand over River’s curls, “Our own little monster. Did you think they loved you? They left you all alone.”_

_She’s picks up the helmet, the darkened face plate reflecting River’s frozen face, “Because that’s what you do with monsters; leave them alone in a cage and wait for them to die.”_

“I don’t have to be. I _know_ you loved Amy, and I know you feel bad about how things went with her, and I’ll never try to keep you away from Rory again, but… I’m fine, you know?” she tries a smile, “You don’t have to worry about…. making me happy, anymore,” River squeezes his hands, “I’m _fine_.”

“Yes I noticed,” he says, eyes narrowing, “Doctor Reed—“

“Is a friend. A good friend.”

“Who kisses you.”

“Occasionally.”

“Right, well I’m not,” he growls in watery frustration, glancing away.

“You’re not what?”

“Fine. I’m not fine… without you. Wasn’t even fine without you when you were just Mo.”

“What was happening with Mo?”

He glares, “You _know!”_ his eyes drop to River’s mouth, “moth to a flame and all that.”

“Did you fancy her?”

“ _You._ I fancy _you._ A lot. There was a wedding and everything, remember?””

“There was a wedding because the universe was collapsing.”

“That was just the first one. There were more!”

“You like weddings.”

“I like weddings with _you!”_ He catches her face in his hands, “Let me stay,” he says.

River tries to nod, “With Rory—“

“With _you_. Let me stay with you and however long it takes, I’ll convince you.”

_Amy holds her hand, thumb stroking her knuckles, “It hasn’t happened for you yet, but there was this time when I was scared and young and you told me, ‘hold on tight, and don’t you let go for anything.’_

_“I keep thinking about that – hearing your voice in my head. And I keep thinking that I didn’t do it - I didn’t hold onto you tight enough, I let them take you away.”_

_“It wasn’t your fault.”_

_“I know, but it feels like it was.”_

_‘You can hold me now’ is what she thinks but will never say. Because there are lines around Amy’s eyes now and she can never fit in her arms the way her baby did._

_But Amy says, “I’m so glad you’re here now,” and she tugs on Melody’s hand until she’s close enough to wrap her arms around._

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks, “ _Can_ I stay with you, please?”

_“What the hell are you doing!?”_

River leans in, bending the way ocean waves do over the shore.

_“Changing the future. It’s called marriage”_

“Yes,” she breathes against his mouth.

 

 

They go to bed but don’t sleep much, just a little bit when the afterglow and the conversation grows quiet. She comes out of a doze with the sun and he’s propped up on his elbows next to her, wrapping a curl around his finger and watching her face.

“What is it?”

“It makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“Your face. It never seemed quite right. It makes sense now,” he tugs lightly at the curl, “with _this_ around it.”

“Do you like it? This face?”

“Very much,” he twists around so he’s lying on his side facing her, hand still tangled in her hair and the other wrapping around her waist, “And everything attached to it.”

She turns her head so she can look at him, trapping his hand and twisting to kiss his wrist.

_“But I haven’t changed!”_

_“And you never will, River. Never, never.”_

“Good morning, Sweetie.”

 

_“Wherever they take you, Melody, no matter how scared you are, I promise you, you will never be alone.”_


	57. Epilogue: 4 years later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the end! This story has been a part of my life for so long and through so many big life changes, I'm not entirely sure what I'll do without it. Maybe I'll write something else. But significantly shorter - I don't think I'll be ready for another long-term commitment like this one for a little while.   
> I'm SO grateful to you readers. I know some of you have been following this story for YEARS, even from the very beginning, and I appreciate more than I can say your patience and your encouragement all this time. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

 

**Four years later**

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” she hisses as he slips into the seat beside her on the opening strains of a wedding song.

“Bowtie wasn’t going to make it,” he whispers back, “And you hate going to weddings alone.”

“But  _ Rory---“ _

“He’ll be fine.”

And he is. He pauses briefly on his way down the aisle with the rings when he see his father’s different face, but then he laughs and waves back to the Doctor and carries on.

“See? Fine.”

“What did you do?”

“I visit him sometimes.”

“With that face?”

“Yes. He’s a teenager now and I have to remind myself about when he was small and cute and had fewer  _ opinions.” _ He wraps his arm around her waist, and whispers in her ear, “I’m better at weddings than Bowtie anyway.”

“Liar. You just didn’t want to miss me in this dress.”

“That too.”

“Everyone is going to think I’ve brought my older lover to the wedding while my husband’s out of town.”

“Kinky.”

She steps on his foot but he doesn’t move his arm from her waist.

 

“Congratulations!” River pulls Doctor Reed into a hug, winking over his shoulder at his pretty new wife dancing with another wedding guest.

“Um,” says Doctor Reed, starring as she steps back at the stern looking grey haired man looming possessively at her elbow. 

“Oh, this is the Doctor,” River explains.

“Really?” Doctor Reed stares curiously at the Doctor.

“That’s right,” the Doctor straightens his jacket, “I’m… distinguished now.”

“Scottish. Just Scottish.” River says.

“Right. Odd…” Doctor Reed shakes his head, “Thanks for coming, I guess? Wait… does this mean you died recently? Because I just saw you a week ago...”

“I’m just visiting. Bowtie dances like a lunatic, I’m sparing all of you  _ that.” _

“It’s endearing,” River insists, squeezing his arm. “Speaking of things that are endearing, your Gran is amazing with Rory,” she says to Doctor Reed, nodding toward where they’re sitting together at a table scribbling happily on napkins.

“Oh, I should introduce you! Gran is really lovely - she near single handedly pushed me through medical school while Mum was busy paying the bills.”

“Yes alright, introduce us then,” The Doctor says, impatiently, and Doctor Reed and River both look at him strangely.

“Well alright then…” Doctor Reed says, turning to lead them to the table.

“Gran,” he says, bending to kiss her cheek, “Let me introduce you to your new friend’s parents.”

She turns in her seat and smiles at them, “Oh, we’ve met, actually,” she frowns, squinting at the Doctor, “Not him though… this isn’t Rory’s father.”

“Am too,” the Doctor insists, “Tell her Rory.”

“He is my daddy,” Rory says, nodding, “His face changes sometimes.”

“It’s true,” River says, frowning, “But I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met…”

“Oh yes we did. A long time ago,” she stands up, slowly, “I suppose my face was very different back then too. Far fewer lines.” She smiles, making more lines and River tries to look past them, to her eyes that are green like

forests

full of moving water.

“My name is Tamira Reed. A long time ago when I didn’t deserve it, you saved my life. I’ve been waiting a very long time,” she holds River’s hands and they feel familiar -  like hands that used to hold weapons and then learned to hold babies instead, “to say ‘thank you’. Thank you for my life.”

“Gran…” Doctor Reed says, “What are you talking about?”

“She was with the people that kidnapped Rory,” The Doctor explains, “River insisted on saving her life.”

“You knew?” River asks him, not looking away from Tamira and her forest eyes.

“Well, yes, because you’re going to tell Bowtie when he gets back.”

River shakes her head; there’s a rushing in her ears like wind through leaves.

“You’re Taryn’s Grandmother,” Tamira nods, “Taryn saved Rory…”

“And I’m so glad he did. And when is this one due?” Tamira asks, resting her other hand on River’s swelling stomach.

“Five months,” the Doctor says, “Your grandson won’t let us name her after you because he’s saving it for his future daughter. We tried though.”

“I really don’t think we’re supposed to know any of that,” Doctor Reed sighs.

_ She stands in her closet with her fancy dress on the floor and her guns hidden, the plan forming in her mind dead ending at finding a way back out with Rory and Anthony. Not without calling  _ him  _ anyway, and it keeps coming back to that, through the panic, through the driving, single-minded need to be where Rory is  _ now _ , the older fear slithers in and starts to whisper in the corner.  _

_ She closes her eyes and makes the water still and  _

_ “Love,” Her father says into a sleepy, starry evening in the back garden, “Doesn’t keep track of the other person’s mistakes. It insists on seeing the best in the other person. Always.” _

_ “She kicked you out a few weeks ago.” _

_ “Well yeah,” he says, “but then she let me back in, didn’t she?” _

_ “Show no mercy,” the monsters whisper, “Expect no mercy.” _

_ “You are forgiven,” he says, as if it is the most true thing there is, “Always and completely forgiven.” _

_ And she goes to her desk, scribbles down two sets of coordinates on a note, and sets her vortex manipulator to take her back to Mr. Lux’s party.  _

_ Back to him.  _

“Do we call her Mercy then?” River asks.

“Spoilers, dear. And Grace is a far prettier name, anyway.”


End file.
